Taunting Angel
by L.Bronte
Summary: Following the reopening of the Opera Populaire, a young ballerina, who is bound for greatness finds herself entranced by the darkness of the Opera Ghost. Madame Giry attempts to save her from his power, but the Phantom refuses to be broken twice by taunting angels.
1. The Opera Populaire

Reviews are most welcome.

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**Chapter 1: The Opera Populaire**

Paris: 1872

When a carriage arrived in front of the Opera Populaire, its single occupant was resting lightly inside. It jolted to a stop, the girl opened her eyes and was promptly ushered out by her new ballet instructor. She stared up from the stone staircase leading up to the ornate, front doors of the opera house. She had seen it few times in its original grandeur. During its first years of renovation she found it to be more amazing than she recalled. For a few moments she stood there, mouth agape in amazement as it was the most magnificent building she had ever seen. The opera house was not only grand in stature, but in decoration, each tarnished sculpture had been masterfully crafted.

Madame Giry touched her shoulder gently. "We shall enter now, and I will show you to the ballet dormitories. My daughter, Meg, can then introduce you to the other girls," the Madame informed her, and took up the girl's small, thin hand.

The girl returned a smile. "That will be lovely, Madame. I'm looking forward to meeting everyone. And I must add that my father and the Madame Bucher are unendingly grateful that you have accepted me into your care." They climbed up the steps and finally entered the opera house. It was an exciting and new experience for the girl. The only school in which she had ever practiced ballet had been merely a large parlor with a bar attached to the wall. When she stepped into the Opera Populaire she found the interior of the building was mesmerizing beyond her imagination.

They made their way through the empty theatre and back around the stage. The girl sheepishly noticed all of the sculptures of golden people bound on the walls by the tiers that surrounded the entire room. There were masons working every which way, and none too lazily. The firm that had purchased the building was dead set on opening the opera in a mere two years time. No one would hesitate to declare them mad.

"Goodness," was all the child had managed to whisper. Madame Giry smiled to herself, the mystique of the theatre was not wasted on this one. As they continued back stage the girl saw that even the sections of the theatre that weren't thickly ornamented were possibly all the more astounding. Then at last, she saw something familiar to her, a wall mounted ballet barre.

The lodging for the dancers training had been relocated to the stage level after several contractors explained it was not sound to place sleeping children on a platform which had had its support beams burned and rotted away.

When the Madame and little girl finally reached the ballet dormitories they found it full of girls gathered around a young woman with long, golden hair, who was telling them something very quietly.

"Meg!" Madame Giry snapped to get her daughter's attention. Meg looked up, and her mother nodded her head towards the new girl at her side.

Meg went to the girl, took her hands in her own and welcomed her, "It is wonderful to have you here in the dormitories, Carolina." She then kissed the air on either side of the girl's cheeks. And young Carolina did the same.

"It is a pleasure to be here with what shall be the greatest corps in all of Europe. If you are all to be my friends, I request that you call me Caressa; Carolina was my mother's name." The other girls giggled, and lapped up her practiced speech. Many of them began to repeat Meg's welcoming sentiments. She was touched by their displays of acceptance.

"My thanks to you all," she managed to say, "It feels as if I've settled in already." Caressa noticed curiously that one girl was sitting on a bed toward the back of the room with a sour look on her face. The girl was staring spitefully at her. When everyone had quieted down, Madame Giry quit the room.

"Caressa, you can sleep in this bed, right next to mine," offered a pale, redheaded girl with a tiny nose. She quickly introduced herself as Reinette Martin.

"Of course, thank you, Reinette." The sour-faced girl continued to seethe in her direction. "Who is that?" Caressa asked Reinette quietly.

"Oh, that's Jacqueline," Reniette answered. "The only reason she's pretending to be angry is to get your attention. She's not upset, though she may be slightly peeved because you interrupted her favourite scary story."

Caressa looked skeptically at her. "_Her favourite scary story_?" So Meg Giry had been telling stories.

"The story of _the Opera Ghost_," Reinette said this in the mock tone of a spectre.

"_The Opera Ghost_, I've never heard of _the Opera Ghost_ before," Caressa admitted. Sometimes her eldest brother told her ghost stories, but she had never heard of this _Opera Ghost_.

"You are in such luck, Meg is going to tell it to us. Please do, Meg!" Reinette asked loudly.

"_Please do_ what?" Replied Meg, turning toward them gracefully.

"You're going to tell us about _the Opera Ghost?_" Both of the girls prayed she would say yes.

"Well... I... I promised I would, did I not?" She smiled as all of the girls started to gather around her once more.

"Please, do start at the beginning!" The once sour-faced girl begged, she was now grinning and glowing with contained glee. She sat next to Caressa with her legs crossed.

"As you wish, my dear," Meg conceded and motioned the other girls to gather round once more.

"I'm Jacqueline," the newly-excited girl whispered to Caressa. "I am sorry for glaring at you earlier, but once you hear the story, you'll understand why. It's my favourite story, even though she never gets the chance to finish it."

Caressa flashed her a friendly smile. "It's all right, I'm only glad I haven't missed it."

Meg was waiting for all of the girls' excitement to wither before she began the tale.

"Long ago, in Paris, in the poorest part of the city, where the sun rarely shines, a beautiful woman birthed a child. Now, the child was alive and well, but when she asked to see him, the physician quickly told her that she did not need to look upon the boy. But she begged and pleaded to see her beautiful child. When the physician showed her the boy, she was terrified. The child was born with a gruesome deformity, marring his face." Caressa gasped, and Jacqueline grinned at her and giggled.

"A face that his own mother could not looked passed. She didn't care to look beyond his face, to nurture his soul. All she saw was a monster." Caressa listened to Meg's tale with her heart turning toward the boy.

"One glorious day, he ran from his home, but in his haste he had forgotten provisions. Desperate for food, he made his way to a carnival — always careful to hide his face. He was caught stealing from a pastry stand. The vendor who captured him brought him to the carnival manager. The manager was going to take him to the closest work house, but when he saw that horrible, frightening face he made other plans for the boy." All the girls were utterly silent, completely entranced in her story.

"A new act opened when they moved the carnival into Persia. _The Devil's Child_ was its name, and the boy was the star of the show. He would wait, locked in a cage with people surrounding him, laughing, and throwing things at him. Then the manager would come into the cage, reveal the boy's face to the crowd, beat him, and collect the money that the people tossed to him for doing such a good deed in beating the poor, innocent boy."

Caressa was nearly crying at the blatant injustice. She was no stranger herself to beatings.

"However, things changed when the carnival traveled back to Paris. A troupe of young ballet students — from this very opera house — attended the circus. They stayed together, and soon found themselves standing next to the cage that held _the Devil's Child._ All but one were laughing at the poor, broken boy. She stood there with tears in her eyes, they fell from her cheeks as she watched the boy receive a beating. She remained while every one else left him. What she saw next she hardly believed." Every one in the dormitory was in pure suspense as Meg paused.

"Go on, Meg!" Jacqueline pleaded, with a hefty supply of support from the other girls.

"She watched, wide-eyed, as the boy removed a piece of rope from around a bar on the cage — and then he lunged at the carnival manager! He pulled the rope around his neck, and he squeezed it as tightly as his small frame could manage! She stood there as the life was choked from that monstrous man, and she saw fire burning in the boy's eyes!"

Caressa believed that the man deserved his punishment, but was still taken aback by the fierceness of the poor creature.

"Suddenly, people peered through the tent flap and saw the corpse of the manager. The girl quickly grabbed the boy and ran with him back to the opera house. She hid him beneath the opera house, deep under ground, on the lake. And you all know that the girl who saved _the Opera Ghost _was —"

"MEG! These girls should be in bed! They do not need you filling their heads with stories of the boy who became_ the Phantom of the Opera!_ The fire was a terrible accident, a stage trick gone awry. How can you tell such tales? Especially when we have a new member in our midst! You do not need to have her thinking you are simple with all the talk of the ghost, really!" Madame Giry was quite distraught, and her lips grew into a thin line. "Meg, go on to your room and I shall see to the girls tonight."

"Yes, mother. Goodnight, everyone," Meg said as she swiftly left the room, as to not impair her mother's mood further.

Madame Giry quieted all of the disappointed girls down, "Everyone, get in your beds. There is no room for discussion, Jacqueline." She used the eyes on the back of her head to stop Jacqueline from her usual protesting. "Goodnight, my girls." Madame Giry went and sat next to Caressa on her bed and spoke, "Welcome, Mademoiselle Bucher, everything will be all right here in time. This is what your father wants for you. I will do my best to make you the most wonderful ballerina that you can be. All I need is your help, and, of course, you must discipline yourself." She ran a hand through the girl's hair. "You are a fine, young ballerina. I promise that if you apply yourself, you shall be endowed with the skills that will give you form with which to lead the stage."

"Just as Meg does now?" Caressa wondered. She dreamt of being as graceful as she knew Meg to be.

"Just as Meg does now." Madame Giry gave the girl one last smile before turning out Caressa's lamp. "Sweet dreams."

* * *

Paris: 1874

In the summer of 1874, Caressa was dared by Jacqueline to sneak a key away from a custodian, and use it to have a peek into Christine Daae's old dressing room. She accepted of course, the adrenaline rush of taking the first breath inside the Madame De Chagny's dressing room made her nearly burst into a fit of giggles. Both girls crept around inside, but they were slightly disappointed — it was an ordinary room, already renovated.

That was, except, for the mirror on the wall. They immediately regretted entering the room the moment they set eyes on it. It was gigantic, even to Caressa who towered over the other girls. Neither of them ever truly believed that the Phantom actually existed, but the mirror loomed in front of them. Each of them had the paranoid feeling that they were being observed. Caressa timidly touched the glass.

Neither girl had noticed the door close, nor had they seen the dark figure walking toward them. Both girls screamed as another figure appeared in the mirror. Madame Giry grabbed them by the arms and dragged them out of the room. She too, had sensed some one watching them. That night she scolded the girls harshly in front of all the ballet rats, and no one could wait to hear their story.

* * *

Paris: 1877

Three years later, a trio of girls stood alone on the stage of the opera house late at night.

"You should have heard la Carlotta sing in _Il Muto. _It was so terrible, I have I've heard better sounds coming from dying cats," exclaimed Jacqueline.

"Oh, but Jacqueline, I did see her for one performance." Caressa Bucher made flourishing motions with her long arms, and cleared her throat. "_Pooooor fool, he doesn't know-ho-Ho-Ho-HO-HO! HO-ho-Ho-ho-HO-HO-HO-HO—_"

"Stop it!" Pleaded Reinette. "You sound so much like her," she shuddered.

"Yes, you frighten me sometimes," Jacqueline said with her hands shielding her ears.

"My father was here for one of Christine Daae's performances. I have never heard her, but he told me she had the most beautiful voice he had ever heard." The other girls relaxed, and removed their hands that had been previously holding out the sounds of la Carlotta. Caressa started again, imitating Christine, "_On that day — that not so distant day, when you are far away and free, if you ever find a moment spare a thought for me—_"

"Stop again, I say! You shouldn't be able to sound so bad and then so sweet, it's not fair," Jacqueline pouted falsely.

"Oh, do another one for us. Just one, and then we can go back to the dormitory," Reinette started begging. She had grown taller, and counted herself lucky that her tiny nose had grown as well.

"Shall I do _Dido and Aeneus, _or_... Don Juan Triumphant!" _She asked loudly in her best man's singing voice. Caressa had never seen _Don Juan_, but she had learned all of the libretto and story when Jacqueline had shared her most guarded secret with her. The night of the infamous chandelier incident, Jacqueline had snatched the sheet music that hadn't been burned from the conductor's stand, and kept it hidden beneath her bed. Her father had played in the orchestra and she was privileged to hear the performances from the pit.

Jacqueline screamed for Caressa to sing_ Don Juan_.

Reinette intervened, "Maybe we shouldn't." She looked nervously at the others.

"What? Shall the ghost hear me; is he going to whisk me away right in front of your eyes? No. Besides, you are the one who asked for me to do one more." Caressa was staring at her friend with a soft look in her eyes — in the hopes that she would not take too much offense to her teasing.

"I suppose it's all right, then," Reinette conceded. Though her nervousness had not dissipated.

"I'll only do the end, and I shall sing Don Juan's part, end of discussion." She puffed out her chest and cleared her throat as deeply and loudly as she could_, "Past the point of no return, the final threshold. The bridge is crossed , so stand and watch it burn. We've past the point of no re- AAH!"_

Caressa gasped as she was struck upside the head and knocked to the ground. Her petrified friends stood like statues as they stared at the dark figure stood by her side.

"Mademoiselle Bucher, I apologize." It was Madame Giry who had hit her. Caressa could hardly believe it, the Madame was like a mother to her. "That was unnecessary, but you should not be singing such songs. They awaken too many ill memories," the Madame explained in a harsh voice. She glared at the other girls. "You all need to go to bed, now!"

None of them hesitated, and they went straight back to the dormitory. Madame Giry remained on the stage for a moment, and prayed that the girl's voice had not travelled far. She was prepared to cast Caressa as the principal ballerina for the next production, and she did not want the girl's reckless abuse of such dangerous music leading to her death. . . or a fate far worse. There was no doubt in the Madame's mind that Caressa was the finest ballerina she had ever taught. She had surpassed even Meg, who had been instrumental in strengthening Caressa skills. The Madame had noticed the decline of quality dancers at the Populaire after the fire, so it was a blessing that Caressa reflected her legacy in the very best manner.

There was only one trait that would hold the girl back from becoming a Prima Ballerina. . . Her voice. Madame Giry felt that Caressa had the ability and discipline to be a great ballerina, but her foolishness in continuing to sing the Phantom's forbidden songs jeopardized everyone at the Populaire. She had always feared deep in heart that if the Phantom still lived, he would discover some horrible way of punishing Caressa for singing his songs. Perhaps he would drag her down into his darkness and. . . do as he pleased. It was for this reason she did not want the girl singing. It threatened her career, her happiness, and her innocence.

Back in the dormitories, Jacqueline spoke quietly, "I cannot believe she hit you."

"It didn't hurt, but it surprised me, and it frightened me." In truth, she had nearly burst into tears.

"_Awaken ill memories._ What does that even mean?" Reinette wondered.

"The Phantom of course. She's getting a bit rusty round the hinges if you ask me. She actually believes in Him now," Jacqueline giggled.

"Don't you?" Reinette asked her companions seriously.

"It's fun to play at, but he doesn't exist," Jacqueline tried to convince her.

"What about _Don Juan_?" But Reinette was trying in vain.

"He was just another opera singer, and all that was a stage maneuver gone horribly wrong. I mean to say — a week later Christine and Raoul got married. It's not as if they were really in life threatening danger," Caressa explained, and knew she had subdued the girls bickering.

They fell quiet for a moment.

"Fine, I'll do it," Jacqueline gasped, breaking the silence.

"Do what?" The girls asked suspiciously.

"I'll prove he's not real. Caressa, do you have any hair pins?" Jacqueline asked. Caressa rummaged through her bedside table and produced one, "Good, now we can get into Christine's old dressing room."

"Excuse me?" Caressa was confused by her reasoning.

"Listen, if you stand in front of the mirror, and sing his songs, we can prove he doesn't exist. . . To Reinette," she whispered in Caressa's ear.

"All right, let's go, but we must be very careful. Madame Giry will take a rod to us if we garner another indiscretion tonight," Caressa cautioned. They snuck out swiftly and made their way for the hall of dressing rooms. A small lamp they carried with them lit the hallway, and they noticed that unfortunately everything appeared more sinister at night. The trio slowly approached the door.

"Give me the pin!" Jacqueline ordered quietly, and Caressa quickly handed it over. She worked the lock fruitlessly for a few moments, until it clicked, and she pushed the door open.

Everything was exactly as they remembered it.

"Can we be quite quick about this?" Reinette begged.

"Not scared, are you?" Jacqueline teased.

"No, but what would Madame think?"

"It doesn't matter, she struck Caressa," Jacqueline hissed. "All right, sing."

Caressa stood frozen in front of the mirror._ He doesn't exist, this is silly, _she told herself. But suddenly she was worried that perhaps he was there, with his eyes trained on her. Perhaps he was waiting for her to sing. _"I will share with you one love, one lifetime. Lead you, save you from your solitude. I just want you with me, here beside me. Anywhere I go will you come too! Angel, that's all I ask of you!"_

The room was dead quiet when she finished.

"I told you he doesn't exist —" Jacqueline was interrupted with a crash by the vanity, a vase had toppled over the edge. "We should go, right now." The other girls nodded their wholehearted agreement.

Jacqueline and Reinette raced out in front of a slightly dazed Caressa, and the door shut as she attempted to go through it.

"Jacqueline, this is not funny, I'm scared. Please, do open the door, I'm really frightened!" She cried.

"She didn't do it. The door shut of its own accord. I'm not joking," Reinette told her seriously. "Try to open it from the inside." Caressa turned the knob both ways violently, but the lock did not give way. "Are you all right?" Reinette heard Caressa breathing heavily. "Shall we fetch Madame Giry?"

"No, you'll only get yourselves into trouble. I'll just wait to sneak out when someone comes to clean tomorrow morning." Caressa was deeply scared, but she tried to sound brave.

"It's dark in there, is there a lamp?" The two girls heard silence from within, and then a clanging of metal.

"I've found one, you girls get back now," Caressa ordered.

"Good luck," Jacqueline whispered before taking off. Caressa was scared out of her wits then, and she swore she heard something scrape against the vanity.

She lit the lamp and peered around the room. She saw the vase that had fallen earlier held a single red rose with a black ribbon tied around it. She walked toward it, took it in her hand, and breathed in its permeating scent.

When she glanced up at the mirror, she saw something white floating behind her. She was too late to defend herself as two large arms came around her fast. One held her mouth closed, while the other held her arms to her sides. The last thing she remembered before losing consciousness was the white shape that had come from behind her—

—The white mask.


	2. Letters

Reviews are most welcome.

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**Chapter 2: Letters**

Caressa awoke the next morning in her bed in the dormitory. _Thank goodness, it had only been a dream, _she thought_. _She sat up and noticed everyone else had gone to morning lessons. As quickly as she could she dressed in her leotard and skirt, and bounded out to the stage. She halted when she saw something white falling through the air. She grabbed at it, but it was oddly weighted and difficult to catch. When it was finally in her hand, she turned it over and was surprised—it was addressed to her.

She did not want to waste anymore time so she stuffed the skull-sealed envelope in her skirt, and emerged onto the stage. Everyone's eyes turned toward her.

"Mademoiselle Bucher, you should be in bed," Madame Giry ordered, quite shocked to see her awake.

"No, truly, I'm fine. Please don't exclude me for being lazy just one morning. I've worked so hard, forgive me," she pleaded quietly so she would not embarrass herself in front of her peers, and for some reason Madame looked very worried.

"Child, I could not wake you. You slept like the dead. Have you seen yourself this morning?" Madame Giry led her to a mirror just off the side of the stage. Her appearance was indeed ghastly, her normally pale complexion was tinted green, and her eyes were sunken and seemed to be a darker shade of brown than usual.

"What happened?" Caressa asked more to herself than anyone else.

Jacqueline answered her, "A little while after we got back from—The stage, you said you forgot something, and you left to retrieve it. You were gone for quite a while." _Always fibbing_, Caressa thought. "Then a stagehand carried you in, he said he found you sleeping on the stage, and that you were holding a rose. You must have had one of your fainting spells. But the boy was worried and told me that when he tried to wake you, you wouldn't open your eyes. He also said you were shivering, and kept muttering nonsense over and over."

Caressa swayed, but kept her balance. Had it not been a dream? "I think I'll sit for a while."

"Perhaps you should rest," Madame Giry suggested, she was pained to see the girl in such a state.

"No, I do not wish to be alone," Caressa replied. The Madame understood her worry, and knew that something had deeply frightened her.

"... Erik..." She whispered the name of Caressa's night terror. "Of course, sit, and if you wish to assist me: watch their legs. If one bends out of place I give you permission to announce it." She smiled at the innocent, young girl when she grinned.

"I'll dedicate it to my heart and soul, ma'am," Caressa replied, feigning sincerity.

She scanned the girls as they warmed themselves up for starting the next production. It was not long before she became bored and began comically pointing her toes at Jacqueline and Reinette. They giggled at her antics, and watched as Caressa placed her ankle behind her head and cocked her head at them. Her friends burst out into fits of laughter, and Madame Giry checked Caressa for interrupting. She slowly brought her leg back from behind her body and whispered an apology before becoming silent.

Her imagination started to run away with her as she closed her eyes to remember the dream of last night... _Or was it the reality of last night? _She questioned herself. At first, she could only recall the mask, but suddenly darker features grew brighter. Soon the mask was not the only form she remembered that had been visible in the mirror. She recalled the man's eyes, they were a pale colour that she could not discern, but she could remember that they were almost glowing as he glared at her reflection. Once she had remembered his eyes she started to recognize his mouth, which had sneered at her in a primal fashion.

Reality came flooding back around her just as she remembered the cloth he held tightly over her mouth.

A girl had tripped and fell violently into another dancer.

"Giselle, really, what name could be more inappropriate?" Madame Giry scolded.

"What about 'Grace?'" Jacqueline whispered quietly to Caressa. She was about to laugh when she saw something up in one of the balconies.

Her breath caught in her throat. It was the man from the night before. He was simply watching her as if she was amusing him greatly, he wasn't glaring, nor was he sneering. But he was still watching, very closely.

Madame Giry declared that rehearsals were postponed after Giselle broke her ankle, because the stage needed to be cleaned of blood. Caressa quickly got away, glancing up timidly to find an empty Box 5.

"What's this?" Asked Jacqueline, tugging the letter from Caressa skirt, "Oh, what a peculiar seal, like the ones from the Opera Ghost stories!" Her brows rose in excitement.

"I just picked it up on my way to the stage this morning, it's addressed to me," Caressa told her friends, and pointed at the fine script bearing her name for emphasis.

"It could be from the staff boy who brought you in last night, or maybe it's from Jacqueline," Reinette suggested, jabbing her Jacqueline lightly in the ribs.

"Well, I never!" Jacqueline huffed in a joking manner, and jabbed back.

"I'm fairly certain it's neither of them, Reinette. Listen, can I tell you what happened after you left—in complete confidence that you will never tell another soul?" She decided to inform them of the previous night's events.

"It will die with us," they agreed.

"All right. Last night, once you were gone, I lit the lamp I'd found. Then I'd noticed a rose on the ground. After I'd picked it up—" She paused and did not know whether she should go on, "—A man grabbed me from behind, forced a cloth over my mouth, chloroform I think, and the last thing I remembered was his white mask." Both girls were silent, "What do the both of you think?"

"Did he hurt you? I mean—did he do anything with you—to you?" Jacqueline asked, dreading the answer.

"No, I don't think he had the time even if he would have. Some one probably came down the hall so he got spooked off, and left me on the stage afterward." Hearing this from her own lips, Caressa believed it to be a sound explanation.

"Oh, I'm sorry we left you alone. Think of the awful things he could have done to you!" Reinette whimpered.

"I would really, rather not," she replied, though she had already thought of a dozen things.

"Open the letter, it's probably from . . . Him," this frightening suggestion came from Jacqueline.

"You mean the Phantom? Who else could it have been?" This thought was constantly running through Caressa's mind, and Reinette had finally voiced it.

"Oh, any filthy man in the opera house," Jacqueline supplied with a flick of her wrist, and Caressa realized that could also be true.

"No, not any man," Caressa corrected suddenly, "A tall man, almost half a foot above me. He had pale eyes, and his lips were—well, I only saw them in a sneer. And his body was thin, but fit, a bit like a dancer, because I could feel how strong he was when he clamped his arms around me. I can't tell you how he smelled, because all I remember was the overwhelmingly sweet smell of chloroform."

"Wow, he sounds intriguing," gasped Jacqueline with sarcasm. "Now, open the letter, and solve all the mysteries."

"Here goes." Caressa broke the skull-seal, and carefully placed what was left on her bedside table. Then she removed the black lined stationery, (_'How morbid'_, Jacqueline had giggled) and she read aloud quietly so that only her two friends could hear:

"_Dear Mademoiselle Bucher,_

_It has become apparent to me that you possess a truly singular voice. In your best interests I advise that you immediately seek growth of your knowledge in that particular discipline. I would gladly take you on as a pupil._

_Your hopeful instructor,  
__The Angel of music_

_Post Scriptum- My sincerest apologies for frightening you the previous night. An affliction momentarily came over me. I saw to it that you were found safely_."

Caressa swore she could hear her heart thudding rapidly against her breast.

"It's only someone playing a trick on you," Jacqueline assured her.

_Is it? _She wondered.

"The Phantom of the Opera wants you. What will you do?" Reinette asked, knowing Caressa suspected it was the Opera Ghost as well.

"I will respectfully decline this _Phantom_ impostor's generous offer. For I am currently pursuing a career as a ballet dancer under the tutelage of Madame Giry," Caressa spoke as she wrote down a reply on her own, plain stationery.

"Where will you put the letter to see if it's received?" Reinette questioned.

"I shall put it where I found his letter," she explained leading them behind a curtain backstage. Once she found the spot approximately where the first letter had fallen she set her reply on the ground.

"What now?" The girls looked at each other.

"Well, maybe we should wait for him," Caressa suggested.

"My God! It's gone!" Reinette was the first to look back, and the reply was nowhere in sight.

"He's watching us, right now," Caressa whispered. "Come out! Come out of the shadows, coward! Is there no better way for you to pass time than preying on little ballet girls! " She shouted into the air. When she received no reply, she looked to her friends and spoke in a haughty air, "Coward indeed." With a rude flick of her tongue into the darkness, the three girls left the stage.

A reply was delivered after the girls had gone back to their dormitory. It was in the form of a dismembered note from Mademoiselle Bucher, torn into a hundred shredded pieces.

The Phantom seethed, and snarled in a carnivorous growl, "GIRY!"

* * *

It was very late that night, midnight had come and gone, and Caressa lie in her bed, staring at the rafters. _Oh, God, if it is him—if he is real, which he can't be—please say that I haven't angered him. I beg you_, she silently prayed. If it were the Phantom, would he accept her rejection, and move on to another girl? From all of the stories Caressa had been told growing up, it seemed highly unlikely, but perhaps he would take pity on her.

_No, a Phantom has no pity, _she thought ruefully. She immediately scolded herself for thinking that, for emotion had always been the attribute she believed the Phantom was blessed with in the stories. Everyone claimed he became a cold and unfeeling character, but she thought that perhaps his madness intensified his love for Christine. It had caused his love to become more of an obsession to possess her, than a quest for her returning his sentiments.

Whenever she had mentioned this in conversation, the older girls had laughed and said, "Possesion wasn't the only thing that Ghost was after." She had never understood what they meant.

Once she had replied, "The only thing? Of course not, he wanted her to sing with him as well." The older girls nearly split theirs sides laughing.

"Oh, yes, he wanted to sing with her all through the night—," "—And in the morning—," "—And in the afternoon." They would say in a chorus. Caressa had never mentioned the singing again, because although she didn't know what they meant, she knew they were naughty girls.

One thing had struck her as more odd than anything else. If all of the stories were true, why would he suddenly be ready to teach again? He surely could not have forgiven or forgotten Christine, it had only been six or seven years. The Phantom had lived alone beneath the opera house nearly through to his prime years when Christine had finally arrived. If he had waited a lifetime for one person, how on earth could six years quell his pain from losing them? Could it be that he realized that since she left him for the Vicomte he was bound to love another as well? Or perhaps it was something entirely different.

Caressa realized that it was more likely that the Phantom would be searching for some one to momentarily take the place of his Christine. If he were to teach her, he would imagine Christine always in front of him. It was true that Caressa could mimic Christine's voice, but it was only a cheap, uneducated imitation at that. There were countless differences, but perhaps he meant to change her. It was doubtless that he planned to improve and manipulate her until she met his angel's voice.

This angered her, and she slammed her fist down upon the cot beneath her. _I am not Christine Daae,_ she thought bitterly. _I am Carolina Caressa Bucher, and this is nonsense. There is no Phantom. There will be no deviation from my dreams of being a Prima Ballerina, and God will bless and keep me in his grace_, this protest turned prayer was her last thought before her exhausted body hauled her mind into perilous darkness.

She had known that sleep would either be an escape from the anxious feeling coursing through her body, or it would only enhance that feeling. Unfortunately, it was the latter.

* * *

At first she was completely encompassed in darkness. Then she lifted something from her face, and her vision was flooded with light. The black domino mask was the first thing that she saw as the new light nearly blinded her. She looked down at herself, and saw that she was wearing a black gown to match her domino. It was the annual masquerade ball at the opera house; those in attendance wore black, and were dancing with their partners. Everyone except for Caressa had a counterpart, for she was in the middle of all of the hidden faces alone. No one acknowledged her as they danced passed, but she felt strangely relieved that they paid her no mind. They acted as if she belonged there with them as a centerpiece.

She had never been a cast member invited to the masquerade before. That privilege was reserved for the principals. That was one of the reasons she longed to be cast as the female principal dancer. It was a dream she'd had since before she had ever become a student of Madame Giry's. Her father had often taken her to the Opera Populaire when she was a young girl, and the ballerinas had entranced her.

As she grew accustomed to the people dancing around her, she noticed that the music had become louder and faster, and that the guests had as well. Everyone was rushing in quickly passed her, shoving her and nearly causing her to stumble to the ground. When suddenly, someone tripped her. Holding her arms over her head to protect herself on the floor, she tried to make the noise go away. It was slamming into her eardrums, no longer music, but a wretched, repetitive screeching.

Her head was going to implode, she could feel it caving in. Then someone's hands touched her arms gently, taking hold of them.

The screeching stopped. "Rise, girl, it's all right." She looked to the speaker's face and gasped.

"Don Juan?" It was the character that the Phantom had created, and for some reason she knew it not to be the Phantom himself. It was his eyes; they were dark surrounded by the domino mask he wore, which was the twin to the mask upon her face.

He nodded.

"No, stay away!" Caressa started to scream at him, "Stay back!" She started to run as the screeching noises came back full-force, Don Juan strode behind her, and everything in the room turned red as he passed. As soon as she ran out of the ballroom she found herself running into it from the other side.

"My lust shall be gorged upon you! I shall have you this night!" Don Juan called after her, though he didn't have to call for she heard him in her mind. After running for what seemed like forever passed the reoccurring scenery he had caught her by the arm and whipped her around to face him. His eyes had fire blazing in them. He had not lied, he was to have her that night.

She closed her eyes and did the last thing she could think of—she prayed, "Please, God, please not this—" She pleaded as Don Juan dragged her towards another room, "I'll do anything, just stop this." He was about to take her through a doorway when she'd reached her last resort, "MY ANGEL! Come to me, My Angel!" Don Juan and Caressa exited through the left side of the ballroom.

The Phantom and Caressa entered through the right side. It had worked, it was the Phantom in his white porcelain mask.

"Thank you, you truly are an angel," she told him as he offered her his arm, which she accepted. Everything in the room was then turned to white, with the exception of Caressa and her angel. They had begun to dance slowly with the music. She closed her eyes and rested her head on his shoulder.

"It feels like we're the only people in the room," she said, speaking hardly above a whisper.

"We are, child." Her head raised and her eyes reopened. The other guests began to disappear. The light closed in around Caressa and the Phantom, leaving only darkness in its wake, until the only light was cast upon them.

She thought she heard him say something, "Excuse me?"

"Why?" She stared into his eyes that were full of sadness, "Why did you reject your angel? Why did you not give him even a moment's compassion of silence when he needed to speak with you? Why did you come to him only as a last resort? Why, Caressa... Why?" She reached to his face to wipe the tears from him eyes.

But her hand was drenched in thick, dark blood. She cast her gaze at him as she backed away a step. His chest was covered in blood, she could see it clearly on his cravat. His hand went to his mask as a drop of blood ran down it. When his hand stole under the mask and ripped it away he was swallowed by the all-consuming darkness.

Caressa was alone, without her angel. But she could hear him screaming her name in pain.

"CARESSA! CARESSA! Caressa!"

* * *

"_Caressa, wake up, you lazy girl!" Jacqueline shook her violently._


	3. A Leading Role

Reviews are most welcome.

* * *

**Chapter 3: A Leading Role**

Early that morning, in another part of the opera house, Madame Giry made her way to the managers' office. A foreboding and familiar sight caused her to stop as she picked up an envelope that had fallen before her. Inside, it had simply read:

"_My affairs are none of your concern."_

This was cause for unease, as it had been nearly seven years since she had received a letter from the Phantom. It struck her as rather unprovoked, but she still understood what he meant. In the case that she hadn't, he reiterated his statement. A Punjab lasso dropped from above her.

* * *

"You don't look very well this morning, Caressa," Reinette told her friend, "Did you sleep well?"

A groggy and pallid Caressa replied, "No, I couldn't sleep, and when I finally did my dreams weren't all that wonderful." _Because they had been terrifying_, she thought.

"Well, they must have been nightmares, because you woke up crying." Jacqueline glanced at her with visible worry in her features. "What's wrong?"

_His face_, she had wanted to answer. The sadness on his face was plastered in her mind. He had seemed so hurt in her dream, like his heart was bleeding inwardly because of her decision. _It had only been a dream,_ she reasoned_._

"But it seemed so real," she muttered aloud without realizing it.

"What?" Jacqueline asked.

"Nothing, we should be going to auditions now," Caressa suggested, needing to think of something else.

When they entered the auditorium they were surprised to see many more people than they had expected to be there so early. Carlotta Guidicelli stood upon the stage with the opera house's principal manager.

"What is this talk of _audition_? I have been the star of this opera house before and after its renovations. I am the Prima Donna, and will not audition! You are fortunate that I came back to this Hell hole at all!" Carlotta shrieked at the manager.

Caressa gasped and looked to Jacqueline, whispering, "They haven't auditioned a new soprano since . . . well, since Carlotta took her reign."

Jacqueline grinned, "The bitch is finally getting what she deserves. I hope she gets it over quickly so that the ballerinas can begin."

"Yes, signora, we know this is a new development. But I assure you, if you just sing a little something you will surely be cast. I have had my orders," the manager told her.

"'Surely?'" Carlotta repeated while smiling. "Then I shall _audition_."

Caressa wondered what the manager had meant by "orders." He was the highest authority in the opera house.

"Oh great, another opera starring 'la Carlotta'," Jacqueline groaned as the girls sat towards the last row of seats.

Madame Giry walked out onto the stage.

"I am sorry, monsieur, I cannot find her anywhere," she informed the manager.

"If we cannot find her, then she shall not be allowed to audition for any position!" Madame Giry's manner dimmed. "We need not cast a girl who would go gallivanting off on performance night. If you see Mademoiselle Bucher, tell her this."

Caressa could not believe what she heard. Without thinking, she stood up on her chair and called out as loud as she could, "I AM HERE! I am here, monsieur!" She thought she heard the floor creak in the box above her.

"Come then, girl! Get up here!" He directed her. She quickly glided through the middle isle, and up the side steps. She was careful to appear as graceful and willowy as a ballerina could in front of the manager. Madame Giry had told her many times that her dancing reflected the Madame's abilities as a teacher. Her skills benefitted the Madame as much as herself.

"Madame, I thought the ballet auditions were going to be later on in the day." Caressa smiled weakly at Madame Giry as she stood next to her. She sent a wide smile towards the manager who returned it with a raise of his eyebrow.

"Ballet auditions are later on in the day. You are here for the lead soprano audition," the manager answered her. Immediately her face went green, and her shoulders slumped.

"So-soprano? You mean Carmen? Monsieur, a grievous mistake has been made. I am a ballet dancer, not at all a singer," Caressa assured him. Carlotta was looking very content with herself as she heard this.

"I received orders to allow you to audition for the role, mademoiselle," he admitted rather finally.

"From whom, may I inquire, monsieur?" She wondered, but she already knew the answer he would give, if he gave one at all.

The manager leaned in close to whisper, "The Opera Ghost has requested that I allow you an audition. Do not upset Carlotta with this news, she lost her husband to the monster." As he stepped back, he cast his eyes down. She saw that some how the Opera Ghost must have shown him that he was not to disobey orders. If the Phantom went through the trouble to get her an audition, what would he do to her if she didn't accept his gift? Something terrible beyond her imagination, she was sure.

"I shall audition then," she told the manager, who gave a deep sigh of relief, "If my manager demands."

Carlotta shrilly sang "Habanera." Few could understand the words through the fingers in their ears. Caressa had never thought Carlotta was truly that horrible of a singer, (though she knew her to be a horrible person,) but even a 15-year-old girl could hear she had passed her prime.

"Absolutely charming, Carlotta," the manager had remarked stiffly. "Now, mademoiselle, if you would _please_. . ." He had urged her.

"Yes, monsieur." She stood in the middle of the stage, where Christine stood many years before—and froze. Her most obvious misgiving was that she possessed a rather severe case of stage fright, her nerves were often too strong to propel her. She was generally unsure of herself, except amongst Jacqueline and Reinette. For a moment she looked at her hands, and then straight to Box 5. He was there, brow furrowed, waiting for her again. His stare was blank; he wasn't going to let her go on with a false voice as she'd planned moments before. If she didn't do what he wanted, she thought he would hunt her down like an animal.

Not wishing to aggravate the Phantom, she sang the aria from _Hannibal,_ "Think of Me", and believed it highly appropriate for the occasion. She sang in her true voice.

He had the nerve to give her a petulant smirk as she began the second verse. Then he stood, bowed to her, and disappeared from his box. Moments later she had finished.

"Beautifully well done, mademoiselle!" Her manager exclaimed. She smiled, but as always with the Phantom lurking behind every corner an envelope fell from above. It was addressed to the manager, who he read it quickly. "Good-day to you, signora," he said to Carlotta, who looked exasperated before storming off the stage in a fit. He then turned to Caressa. "You, mademoiselle, are to be our Carmen—As Monsieur Opera Ghost has cast."

"But monsieur, she cannot possibly play this part. She has no proper training, and I need her for the corps. It is too much for her so soon," Madame Giry defended her, "You would be daft to think otherwise."

The manager knew that Giry was only trying to spare the girl from peril, be it physical or otherwise. But he was trying to do the very same for himself. Caressa looked at him with pitying eyes, for she knew he had been forced to commit the actions against her.

"I apologize, there is nothing I can do. You are to be given your own room as well." Caressa hope was failing. "The soprano dressing room." Her last flame of hope flickered and died.

"Thank you, monsieur," she droned, all emotion had gone from her voice. "When shall I move my things?"

"Immediately. I'll send a stage hand to help you." He became as emotionless as Caressa, for he knew he was delivering an innocent child into the hands of a demon.

"Fine. . ." She waived her hand in a dismissive flourish, and walked backstage with Madame Giry directly behind her.

"Caressa." Madame Giry took her firmly by the hand, and stopped her pupil for a moment. She thought of the letter, then of Meg and Christine, and chose her words very carefully, "Be cautious, always, of his mood. And be assured, I will put an end to this."

* * *

Caressa started to weep silently as she gathered her belongings. When she had finished packing everything she sat on her bed to wait. She cleared her mind as best she could, and eventually a boy walked to the doorway and knocked on the wood.

"Monsieur Maugnaut sent me to help you with your things." She motioned him in, and he spoke again, "Hello, I'm Matteo."

"And I am Caressa, I wish I seemed more pleased to meet you." She shook his hand.

"I carried you in here the other day. How are you feeling?" He wondered. He was the staff boy who she had been told about.

"My world is slowly collapsing on itself," she rasped dryly.

"Oh, well, I'm sorry to hear that," he said sheepishly, "But I'm sure things will get better from here, right?" He smiled at her, and nudged her with his elbow, "Right?"

She laughed, "Right."

"There, ladies should smile all the time," he told her as they walked through the doorway.

"Ladies should do a great many things, boy," she told him.

"'Boy?' I am no boy, I assure you. I'm sure that I'm older than you are. What are you 17, 18?"

She laughed again, "I'm 15."

"Wow, I hardly thought you were so young. I'm 19 by the way. A bit short for it, I know." Caressa could tell he was trying to ease her mind, and decided to play along.

"Thank you, and I'm sorry for calling you a 'boy,' man." She hadn't noticed that they reached the room until he opened the door.

"Well, I guess I leave you here. Unless you want me to assist in putting your things away?" She knew not to invite boys or men into a personal room.

"I can manage, but I'll see you around after rehearsals begin," when she said this, she hoped he wouldn't be put off by her rejection.

"Of course you will," he assured her. Then he quickly grabbed her hand and kissed it before running off down the hall.

"What a rude, unmanageable boy," she remarked to herself while smiling. She hadn't told her friends of her move, and she suddenly wanted them with her as she entered what was now her private room. _It won't be private though. The Phantom will come._ That was her only certainty. Her life had changed so drastically in the past few days that she hardly knew her own mind any longer.

She decided to slowly unpack her things. The beauty of the room was completely wasted on her, which was strange considering how enthralled she had been with it only a few years before. It was just fabrics and objects she told herself. Though she did distinctly notice that the window was barred from the inside._ I wonder if that was standard or an added fixture, for my benefit,_ she thought scornfully.

She found an armoire in which to place her clothes. Then she placed all of her more valued possessions beneath her bed in scrap boxes. With those things out of the way, she moved onto her books. She was always teased about her books. While every other girl read romance novels, Madame Giry had never allowed her to read such materials, the Madame instructed her to reread the _Bible_ or _The Count of Monte Cristo_. Madame Giry was always very protective of her; trying to keep her unaffected by the darkness of the world, and it had worked_. Until the moment I followed Jacqueline into this wretched dressing room for the second time, _Caressa reminded herself.

Once everything was put away, she sat on the bed, and looked at the great mirror. She could think of no reason why he wasn't on the other side, leering at her. She stared at the place where she believed his eyes would be, and mouthed the words, "Why me, monsieur?" After a few minutes of this, she looked away toward the vanity. A red rose was resting on a book. She made no move toward it. It was a trap of some kind, and she had never been remarkably curious. The rose could stay there, wilt and die for all she cared.

But she did care. She wouldn't let such beauty die because of her stubborness. It needed water or it would wilt. She swiftly crossed the roomed and delicately picked it up. There was a washbasin in the corner with a glass set on a shelf above it. Before she could move toward it, she glanced down at the book. It simply read _Justine _and beneath that in small script_ or The Misfortunes of Virtue. 'Misfortunes of Virtue'? _Caressa pondered curiously, while opening it near the center.

_"All the ceremonies I am going to describe now, Madame, were part of a ritual from which the Count never deviated, they were scrupulously observed upon each occasion, and nothing ever changed except the place where the incisions were made."_

Caressa paused at "incisions". _A medical manual perhaps?_ She thought and continued_._

_"The Comtesse, dressed only in a loose-floating muslin robe, fell to her knees instantly as the Comte entered._

_"Are you ready?" her husband inquired._

_"For everything, Monsieur," was the humble reply; "you know full well I am your victim and you have but to command me. '_

_Monsieur de Gernande thereupon told me to undress his wife and lead her to him. Whatever the loathing I sensed for all these horrors, you understand, Madame, I had no choice but to submit with the most entire resignation. In all I have still to tell you, do not, I beseech you, do not at any time regard me as anything but a slave; I complied simply because I could not do otherwise, but never did I act willingly in anything whatsoever."_

At this Caressa hesitated once more, slightly confused._ Why would he leave me this? _She wondered, but against her better judgment, she read on.

_"I removed my mistress' simar, and when she was naked conducted her to her husband who had already taken his place in a large armchair: as part of the ritual she perched upon this armchair and herself presented to his kisses that favourite part over which he had made such a to-do with me and which, regardless of person or sex, seemed to affect him in the same way._

_"And now spread them, Madame," the Comte said brutally."_

Caressa hurled the book to the ground and kicked it away from herself. "Oh, Lord, forgive me!" She cried in a whisper.

Embarrassed and blushing, she turned her attention to caring for the rose. She crossed back toward the basin and glass. As she reached for the glass, a leather clad hand closed around it first. His body was so close she could feel his chest moving against her back. Her breathing became erratic as he placed the glass in her outstretched hand, and her stomach constricted in fear of him.

"As you were." He spoke into her ear, but did not back away. Those were the first words he had ever spoken to her, but she had not heard him. Her blood was pounding too loudly through her veins for her to comprehend. The feeling of fear was an understatement, when it was blind terror that she felt as she stood with her back straight as an arrow. Suddenly, he took a step backward.

Neither her stomach nor back relaxed, but she continued her ministrations. When the rose was safely in water, she stood still at the basin. He was waiting once again.

"Is it your intention to stand there all day?" He was still only a step behind her, "Didn't the Madame ever teach you that it is polite to face your guests when they speak to you?"

With all her heart she wanted to answer, 'But you are no guest, monsieur.' Her polite breeding prevailed, and she turned to face him. She was closer than she had ever been in the presence of any man, save her father and brothers, and he looked deep into her eyes. She tried not to look at his eyes, nor his mask, so she did the only other polite thing she could think of to do in the presence of a man—she stared at the ground.

The Phantom put his finger under her chin and forced her head up so that her gaze would meet his eyes. She was too afraid to look at him, so her eyes clamped shut. She knew he was trying to catch her in his hypnotic gaze, and he could sense she would not give in easily. Caressa was too smart for that, but the Phantom was infinitely more intelligent, "Will you sing for me?" Which was not a real question, for she could not refuse him. "Caressa. . ." He said her name softly for the first time, but there was masterfully hidden annoyance behind it as he verbally pushed her, and stroked her cheek gently.

"What shall I sing for you?" She tried to follow Madame Giry's advice to keep him in this gentle mood. Her voice was a pathetic whimper.

"Something of Aminta's." He was trying to provoke her, by asking her to sing music from his opera, and she sensed this. She also felt her fear overwhelm her as she began to cry.


	4. Enter the Phantom

Reviews are most welcome.

* * *

**Chapter 4: Enter the Phantom**

Caressa closed her eyes, and tried to remember the words to any of Aminta's part. But she was too frightened to remember anything that would help her at all—Her mind was a total blank.

"Why the delay?" The Phantom asked her patiently. Her fear nearly overcame her as he spoke. She felt him place his arm around her waist, but he did not pull her to him. She flinched away, but he only tightened his grasp.

"I can't—I can't remember, monsieur," she whispered, "I'm sorry, but I truly can't." His pleading eyes matched her own when she looked up at him.

"Why?" His hand continued to stroke her cheek gently, which reminded her of his mood.

"If you would permit me a few moments to gather my thoughts I would gladly sing something for you, monsieur," she timidly informed him. He nodded his head, removed his arms from her person, and sat down in a chair across the room. She hadn't noticed the smell of his strong musk until after it was gone. The scent of leather and smoke filled her head.

Though he wasn't out of the room, he was no longer invading her personal space. She held her head in her hands while wiping her tears away. She spent a few moments' time forcing herself to recall any of Aminta's libretto. '_Past the point of no return; No going back now.'_ _Yes. That was it, _she had remembered.

"_Past the point of no return. No going back now_—" The Phantom stood and stalked toward her. She turned back to the cupboard that held the basin and supported herself as she sang, "—_Our passion-play has now, at last, begun. Past all thought of right or wrong. One final question_—" His hands found the sides of her tear-stained face, and her eyes clamped shut once more, "—_How long should we two wait before we're_—"

"CARESSA! Caressa, open up, it's Jacqueline!" Her friend pounded noisily on the door.

"Oh no," she exclaimed and looked back at the Phantom as he stepped away from her.

"Go to your guest. I shall come to you in the morning," he whispered as he made his way for the mirror.

"Good night, monsieur," she murmured politely, and then made her way to the door. The first thing that Caressa saw before Jacqueline threw her arms around her was the concerned looked on her friend's face.

"Oh, I thought you were dead in here. No answer for minutes," Jacqueline spoke with a sniffle in her voice, it seemed as if she had been crying.

"I'm fine, really," Caressa told her as she led her into the room, "I've just put my things away, and began situating myself."

"Oh, but look at your eyes, you've been crying." Jacqueline wiped at her face, "I'm so sorry that the managers made you move into another room. I know how afraid you are to be alone in the dark, and if you want me to stay with you tonight I will. To try and protect you from whatever might come." For someone so small she was incredibly brave, but no match for the Phantom.

"Don't be simple, I'll be fine. I'm sure I'll need no protecting, but you can stay for a while . . ." Caressa wanted to ward off the Phantom for as long as she could manage. Jacqueline stood and began inspecting the room; she picked up the book the Phantom had brought for Caressa.

She gasped, "Caressa, really!" Jacqueline giggled, "One moment out from under Madame Giry's watch and you're reading lascivious novels already!"

"'Lascivious?' What does tha—that is not my book!" She was becoming rather annoyed as Jacqueline poked fun at her.

"You read all those language books and you don't know what 'lascivious' means?" Caressa looked at her blankly, "It means. . . You know. . . _Carnal_."

She understood. "Oh, Lord _no_, that's immoral and disgusting! I would _never_! It was left in here!" She suddenly recalled how extremely offended she was by the Phantom's gift.

"It really isn't yours then. Sorry, I was shocked. You're too smart to fill your head with those impious thoughts." _Or too innocent_, thought Caressa_. "_I suppose the Phantom has to release his demons one way or another."

"Will you take it with you when you leave? I don't want it in the room." Caressa hoped she would just take it.

"What, would you be tempted to read it? Catch up on romance before you get into bed?" Caressa despised being teased by Jacqueline so.

"No, I just don't like the thought of it marring the beauty of the room. I'd feel more comfortable without it in here," she explained herself.

"I'll take it and burn it. How does that sound?" She was only joking, but Caressa took no chances.

"It sounds heavenly," Caressa replied.

Jacqueline could see her friend was already letting the room get to her. She was dying to question her about the Phantom, but she knew that might not be the best idea.

"Can I ask you something? About—Him?" Jacqueline and Caressa glanced at the mirror.

"If you want to know," Caressa huffed.

"All right. Er, first, did you get a good look at him?" Jacqueline raised her eyebrows.

"I'd say that I had a rather good view of him when we last met, yes," Caressa sighed, for this was very true.

"Oh good, that really lends to my next question. Er, well, when you put together all of the features you told me about the other day—Was he—Was he good-looking, or monstrous, or—?" She held out the last word so Caressa could substitute her own description.

She thought for a moment, what if she gave an answer the Phantom didn't like? She just decided to tell her friend what she wanted to hear, _Why would the Phantom care what I say? _"He looked normal, I suppose, aside from the mask. Though it was hard to tell through a sneer." Her friend smiled.

"Oh, come on, 'normal?' That could mean so many things, you're being so vague." Jacqueline was venturing to her last nerve, "But what else should I expect? It's how you were raised." She knew she was grinding away at Caressa's poise, "Always Madame Giry's innocent little-"

"Be quiet! He was... OH! Just leave it!" Caressa nearly shouted.

Jacqueline grinned, "'Fine!'" Caressa chastised herself for getting so angry and smiled begrudgingly at her friend. "Okay, now we can talk about something else if you like."

"Yes, anything else," Caressa agreed. For the rest of Jacqueline's stay they avoided the Phantom in conversation, but he was never far from their minds.

"Well, Madame Giry is probably looking for me, I had better go. Good night, and if you get scared, come and find me," Jacqueline offered before she walked to the door.

"I will, good night." Her friend nodded as she closed the door behind her. Caressa heard commotion in the hall, and her door opened again. "Madame Giry, won't you please come in?" Caressa invited her teacher.

"No child, I just came to bid you good night, and see that you are situated. You appear to be." the Madame tried for her best smile.

"I am, thank you," her pupil replied, and there was an awkward silence.

"Good night, Caressa."

"Good night, Madame." With a glance at the mirror, Madame Giry left the room.

Alone as she was going to get, Caressa looked at the bed. It was directly in front of the mirror. She put a screen at the foot of the bed, and carefully changed under the bed covers.

Once she'd finished she pulled a scrap box out from underneath her bed. It contained all of her most personal belongings. She took out the letter she'd received from her little brother that morning. Christophe had written the letter in his usual scrawl.

"_Dear Caressa,_

_How are you in Paris? I'm quite well myself. I started my schooling again a few months ago. We all—mostly—miss you. How is your ballet? Do you still cherish me as you cherish your pointed toes? Father made me enclose new photographs. I'm always thinking of you and—Have I said as of yet how I miss you?_

_I love you,_  
_Christophe"_

She smiled as she finished reading. Her brothers meant the world to her, and she longed to see them. In the morning she would to write Christophe to tell him she would be Carmen. Christophe looked precious in his photo; she hadn't seen him since he was eight. And her eldest brother, Heinrich's photo was dashing, his dark curls were out of control as always, but she had seen him a few weeks before and as such his appearance was no surprise. The last picture was of her father and stepmother. She had recently had better feelings toward her stepmother, mainly because she never had contact with her.

Her stepmother had believed that her father showered Caressa with more affection than herself, which he did. But she only _disliked_ her for that. She was a vile woman with a wild temper and that was not assisted by her dependence on fine alcohol. She _despised _Caressa because her own sons loved the girl too. Christophe always liked sending letters and asked why she couldn't come back for a little while. Heinrich had always valued her presence and found her an amusing diversion, and often came to visit her at the Populaire. Her stepmother had been the driving force behind sending her away to the Populaire, and in some twisted way, for that she was grateful.

Caressa placed the letter and photo of her father back in the envelope, put that in the scrap box, and shoved it under her bed. She turned out her lamp and fell asleep, calmed by the images of her brothers.

* * *

Later that night she awoke when she felt a shift on the bed. Before she could think to move, his hand was on her mouth. "Shhh. Silence." He held a finger to his lips, and removed his other hand.

"You said you'd come for me in the morning." She removed her nails from his arm slowly. There was an immensely uncomfortable sensation she felt while he sat on her bed. Her chest ached with panic.

"It is my intention to apologize for not bidding you good night. You are under my care, and I have been. . . Impolite." He smirked at her.

"That's quite all right, monsieur, all is forgiven," she assured him. She wanted him to go, and leave her in peace. His eyes traveled from her face to her chest. She felt violated before she realized he was looking at the pictures of her brothers. "My brother Christophe and my brother Heinrich," she explained, hoping he didn't believe Heinrich to be her betrothed.

"I see," he sighed and glanced into her eyes. It was the first time she had allowed this to happen, and she felt the frantic intensity with which he viewed her. His pale eyes shone strength, but also disquiet. The Phantom leaned in toward her and she closed her eyes. His lips touched her forehead and he muttered, "Sweet dreams, little one," Before rising, and going back towards the mirror, he paused. "Forgive me for my vulgar gift as well. I have offended you. I was relieved to discover your—"

"Innocence," she finished. He laughed dryly before leaving through the mirror. "Sleep well, monsieur le Fantôme," she whispered before falling asleep once more.


	5. My Assistance?

Reviews are most welcome.

* * *

**Chapter 5: My Assistance?**

Caressa's eyes slowly opened to reveal her new room. _Do I have time to dress before he comes? _Was her first thought of the morning. She had never been so nervous to wake up before. She pushed away the warmth of the plush blanket that had spent the night protecting her. Her arms went to the bottom of her shift with intention of removing it when she heard a weak cough. Immediately, she pulled the blanket back around her, covering herself. Frantically, her eyes scanned the room—he was sitting in a chair next to the door.

"Good morning, Mademoiselle Bucher." He grinned at her.

"It certainly is the morning, though I may not agree with you on how pleasant it is, monsieur." She was shocked by her own words and sighed, "Monsieur, you have startled me this morning."

He walked to her swiftly as she still sat on her bed, wrapped in the blanket. "You must dress," he ordered her as he pealed away the blanket. It was not acceptable for him to see her in her night shift. She recoiled from his reach, hid behind a screen and tried to explain.

"Monsieur, I am indecent, you must understand that it is just not done! It's not you, truly, but you mustn't see me until I am dressed. I must dress, I must dress!" She repeated in an effort to keep him away. All she heard were a few shuffling noises before some garments were hung over the top of the screen.

"Dress quickly," he instructed. She could see his silhouette from where he stood on the other side of the screen, and she was sure he would see hers as well. After snatching the garments she turned her back to the screen.

She studied the clothes for a moment. _Am I not meant to go to ballet practice today? Why hasn't he given me a leotard and skirt?_ She wondered. Instead he had chosen a forest-green satin day-gown that she owned, but had never worn before. It required a petticoat- which she disliked- and it was far too time consuming to put on all of the undergarments. _Dress quickly- ha!_ She scoffed. The undergarments daunted her: corset, corset cover, slip and pantaloons... It was so much easier to wear a leotard and skirt. She was only glad he hadn't chosen a blouse and skirt—she _hated_ blouses.

His foot tapped on the other side of the screen as time was being wasted. She removed her night shift and stood naked knowing he was few feet away from her. She did not waste time while ripping her undergarments on, and then she pulled the gown over her head. The corset remained loose about her abdomen as she intended to tighten it before buttoning the back of her gown. Her arms moved behind her reaching for the laces, she pulled the top tight, but could not find where the laces crossed below it.

It was the first time she had ever attempted to tie that variety of corset on her own, because she knew it was near impossible. She spun toward the Phantom, _So does he._ Whenever she had been required to wear a corset for a show the other girls in the dorm had to also, so they all tied each other's corsets. Could she ask a man to tie her corset? She didn't know if it was right, but would he blame her for not knowing? Perhaps he would think her simple or dull, and leave her. With that thought she summoned the courage to ask him.

"Are you nearly finished?" He asked her sharply. She gasped in surprise for she had all but forgotten he could speak.

"Um, m-monsieur, I—" She took a deep breath and released, "—I cannot tighten the laces on my corset. Would it be all right to ask for your assistance?"

"My assistance?" She heard him repeat quietly. "Come out from there, I will close my eyes while I assist you." Her head peered around the screen; his eyes indeed were closed. She stepped out in front of him; her head was twisted back as she watched what he would do. He reached out blindly and his hands came in contact with the base of her right row of ribs. His hand slid up under her arm and trailed to the top row of crossing laces. "I will make a point to be gentle."

She nodded, and then felt like a dolt. "Thank you, monsieur." There were tears threatening silently to fall, her throat was dry, and all she could do while he freely moved his hands about her body was be polite. He jerked the laces back; she gasped in pain and bit her lip. The process continued until he reached the last crossing and tied the laces. After he ran his gloved hand over the laces, he stepped back to allow her to button the gown. Her fingers found the buttons and put them in their according places as fast as she was able.

He had laid her mother's white lace gloves on a stand next to the screen, and she reached for them. They were beautiful in her hand, one of her most prized possessions. Once the day was over she would put them in her scrap box also, so that she couldn't ruin them. He wanted her to wear them, and she didn't want to anger him. She slipped them on and turned to the Phantom.

He had made his way to the other side of the room and was moving the screen from in front of the mirror. Half of his mouth curled into a grin as he surveyed what he'd done. His eyes searched the mirror until he found Caressa in it and beckoned her to his side with a finger. "Look at yourself," he ordered softly in her ear. She surprised herself; an elegant woman stared back at her. _My mother, _she thought, _I look like my mother. _Except for her pale skin, she truly did. The man at her side took slow care to remove her hair from the ribbons she'd placed in it the night before. Her hair fell about her shoulders in dark, silken curls.

His hand ran through her bouncing ringlets, and she looked down. She realized that the cut of the neck was squared quite low, what some would consider unseemly. Still, she noticed that her endowments appeared considerably larger, which may have pleased her more than her chastity would allow.

"When you are in my presence, your hair will remain down always," this second order was spoken as softly as the first. While he simultaneously traced his hands from her throat to arms and then back up again.

"If it would please you, monsieur, I would gladly keep it down," she breathed softly; this was the answer she hoped he had wanted from her.

"It will please me. Would you be so willing when I ask other things of you?" His left hand came around her waist until his fingertips rested on her right hip, "For instance: you will _never_ put a screen in front of this mirror again. Its beauty should not be hidden." The pressure around her waist increased and he drew her body to his. His chest was firm against her back, and she was filled with dread. She could see him taking in the scent of her hair in the mirror. He appeared to be lost in the sensation.

"Perhaps, we should discuss this over coffee in a room more fitting, monsieur?" Her eyes met his when he looked up at the mirror. The image she saw frightened her, it was a mockery of the first night he'd come to her. But the fierce sneer and fiery eyes were replaced with a sly grin and amused gaze.

"You are right, that would be best. I have much to explain to you, and you have much to tell me." He took her hand in his, and walked her to the door. "I shall take you to a place where we shall not be disturbed." That made her look back at her room. Perhaps "we shall not be disturbed," meant "if you scream at the top of your lungs no one will come to your rescue."

"It is in the opera house, you needn't worry," he informed her. He led her through hallway after hallway, she hoped he knew the way back because she was lost after his third turn. "We are nearly there, I assure you." One turn later and down a row of curtains, she realized that she knew where she was. He moved the curtain back with his arm and she stepped through.

"Box 5?" She questioned, "And no one will hear us?"

"Not a single living soul."

"Why did we walk such a long way to reach it?" It was not far from her dressing room at all.

"A stage hand was following us," he explained, "When he was successfully lost deep in the house I led us quickly away."

"Poor man," Caressa said, reflexively.

The Phantom's movements became stiff for a moment, "Please sit, mademoiselle." She did so hastily as she noticed how her statement affected him. The entire house was empty and silent when she peered down.

"Why are there no people here?" She asked in whisper.

"You must underestimate me. I am the Opera Ghost. My every whim is met dutifully by the managers of this humble establishment." He motioned absently with his hand as he sat down in the chair beside her.

"Oh, it is a wonderful view from here. The chandelier looks so much more brilliant, and the stage. It is a perfect viewpoint," she told him, looking out from Box 5.

"Now, I should like to explain a few things about my intentions." _Finally, a few answers, _she thought. "You are to be Carmen, simply because you are the only and best choice for the part. Madame Giry was going to merely cast you in the corps without my influence. The managers needed to be freed from Carlotta's reign; they would not have turned her down without the letter I sent to them. You have the makings of the voice of a Prima Donna, you already surpass Carlotta in many ways."

His eyes were looking towards her, but they suddenly no longer saw her. "When I stood behind the mirror and you sang, you looked into my eyes as if you saw me. I thought you were some ethereal creature I would never reach. It felt like you were taunting me. Something in me wanted to reach out to you. That's why I came to you with such force." He reached out to touch her cheek. "Of course, you forgive me?"

"I can. I do." She half-smiled at the man before her, he suddenly did not seem like the horrid creature she'd been told of. His eyes made him seem so kind, but she knew that it was a mask. The Phantom was the Phantom and she knew he was a murderer when occasions called for it.

"In the mornings you will practice with Madame Giry, but pay her heed when she instructs ballet, only ballet." He raised his brow expectantly.

"Only ballet," she repeated dutifully.

"In the evenings you shall return to your room, you will take you lessons there. You will then dress in a gown I've laid out for you and all that it entails. Your hair—"

"Shall be worn down in your presence. . . Always," she added hurriedly at the end.

He smiled at her and ran a hand over her hair. "Now, I wish to question you."

"I will answer truthfully monsieur," she replied, and hoped that he had not noticed her cringe when he touched her hair.

"I trust that you shall. Where were you born?" He questioned.

_Oh, goodness, he's asking those questions, _she was greatly relieved.

"In Italy. Er, Florence, Italy," she answered quickly.

He nodded as if he understood something vastly important. "Italian? Were your parents Italian?"

"Yes and no, my father is Italian, but my mother was Spanish. My father moved to France after I was born, where he received his brother's string oriented instrument shop," after she told him this story, she hoped she had not given more information than he required.

"Your mother 'was Spanish'?" He asked, and the interrogation turned somber for Caressa.

"She died, the day after I was born," Caressa told him as she sighed, "She could not survive the birth."

"But your brother is younger than you," he stated.

"He's my stepbrother, my father re-married two years after my mother's death. That's why I came to the opera house, his wife could not find love for someone else's child," she spoke quietly.

"You came to the opera to escape someone who doesn't love you?" He repeated, feeling he was familiar.

"No, my father sent me here after he found out from my elder stepbrother that my stepmother was beating me when he went away. She used to beat me when I'd do something she felt was wrong, but my father needed her money so he sent me away to Madame Giry." Caressa's voice became distant when she spoke again, "My elder brother struck his mother once, her own son, and it was horrible how she reacted. She blamed everything on me, and claimed it was my fault and that he loved me more than her. She tried to convince my father that I was a homunculus; she . . ." At this, she trailed off.

"And where does your father live now?" The Phantom pulled her thoughts away from such dark matters.

"He remains in France, in Lille, up north. Heinrich manages the shop now. He lives a little way outside of Paris." She was glad knowing that Heinrich was so close and that wretched woman was so far.

"You said your mother was Spanish?" The Phantom asked to rid their conversation of the wicked stepmother.

"Yes, my father was glad I inherited his light colouring. He knew it would be harder for me otherwise, but he says I look very much like her in every other sense." Caressa, herself, was one of the only things that remained of her mother.

"She was beautiful then?" He smiled at her. "Are there any . . . men in your life, aside from your father and brothers?" She didn't know he would be so forward about this subject.

"No one, Madame Giry kept me to my ballet, and my studies." She had been completely without male companionship that could grow to more her entire life. He was laughing smugly inside; she could see it in his eyes. It made her more nervous that he knew she had no knowledge of men.

"You are schooled in areas other than ballet?" He was curious what she had meant by this.

"Well, I have read hundreds of books, and teach myself many different things. I've never had a tutor, but Madame Giry says I'm very bright. All truth being told—after I've passed my prime in ballet—I will to retire, and perhaps go to University; it is not so uncommon now. If I have at most 10 years as a ballerina, I should like to have other finances." She wondered what he would think about her having schooled herself; _He will laugh and tell me what a stupid girl I am._

"Finances? Aren't you a bit young to be considering finances?" He did laugh a little.

"Not at all, monsieur. I would be a fool not to consider them. If I suddenly broke an ankle, like Giselle did the other day, and could never dance again—God forbid—I may end up on the street, and I would surely die before turning to unclean professions. I could not burden myself upon my family. Money is a constant cruelty in society, but it is a cruel need that we humans must bare." She told him quite seriously. Afterward, she realized that she had defended herself more harshly than was likely necessary.

"Your point is received well, but economics is not why we are here. I have a few more instructions for you." She nodded for him to continue. "You are not to speak to men, except when necessary." Her brows furrowed. "They will only distract you. You will ask permission before you go out of the opera, as it is not safe. In the night you are not to leave your room, unless I have asked you to meet with me. You will speak of me to no one. You will do all of this, and anything more that I ask." His voice had become commanding quickly, "Do you understand?"

"Yes, monsieur," she whispered. She was an individual with a free will, and found that she grew irrepressibly indignant as he set these rules for her. She did not wish to come to physical harm, so she allowed him to assert his dominance.

He took her hands and stood. "Monsieur, one more matter. Since you and I shall be together often, it seems strange to call you only 'monsieur.' I refuse to call you 'Phantom' or 'Ghost,' for they are degrading insults to your person. By what name should I call you?" Caressa asked boldly.

He looked at the ground as if he would find his name there. "I shall not have you refer to me as 'Angel,' because you know that's not true. There was a name a gypsy woman called me by once. She said it was my name, and that it had been revealed to her in a crystal ball—Silly old woman, really. When I am teaching you, you shall refer to me as Master. When I am not, you may call me 'Erik.'"

"'Erik' is a fine name, because it is yours," she assured him matter-of-factly.

He brushed his hand through the air to indicate that it was no matter, and then spoke, "Come, we must return to your room. I have list of errands to write for you." He rushed her out of the box and back toward her quarters. "I will not often require this of you, but today it is urgent. You have been compliant, and patient with me this morning. Go to your father's music shop and purchase for me all that is on this list. Take a carriage, you must return by 3:00." His hand quickly wrote down his needs, and he passed them to her.

"I will make haste . . . Erik." His breath caught when she called him that. "And I shall return as quickly as I can. Good-bye." She grabbed a wrap and left the room.

Erik sat in the chair by the door again. He was surprised to feel something hit his knee. When he opened his eyes Caressa was standing there. She bent down and kissed his forehead.

"Thank you, for allowing me to see my brother," she whispered earnestly, before running out of the room once more.

* * *

_My God, I just kissed him. _The thought made Caressa ill as she made her way for the front doors of the opera, _Perhaps now he'll believe I have no intentions of disobeying him. _And indeed she had no plans to disobey him. Caressa had heard many firsthand accounts of the damage he had caused at the _Don Juan Triumphant_ performance. There was no one who would stand against him, no one who could help her. The police would never take her seriously, and the manager would call her a liar if she stirred up trouble when they were about to open for the season.

_He had seemed so kind,_ a voice in the back of her mind told her. It was the small demon on her shoulder, and so she disregarded it quickly.

She found a carriage outside the doors, and paid the man at the reins to take her to _Bucher's String Instruments._ Just as she was closing the door, a hand held it fast from the outside.

"Oh, Meg, good afternoon. You startled me," Caressa greeted the younger Giry.

"Good afternoon, Caressa. I was wondering if I might ride with you, I'm headed to somewhere around your father's shop. I would really like to speak with you, as well." Meg was smiling brightly.

"I would be happy to share a carriage with you. Please, climb in." Meg got in, and sat across from her.

"Congratulations on your position. It is very rare that someone so young is cast. You are quite talented, and you are most deserving." It was not difficult to tell that Meg knew about the Phantom's influence, and was attempting to ease Caressa's feelings concerning the circumstances.

"You know as well as I do that I should never have been given the role of Carmen," Caressa muttered as she stared out of the window.

"But Carlotta is such a dreadful performer! You sound like an angel, just like . . ." She heard Meg heave a sigh, "An angel."

"Like Christine? You don't have to pretend that you don't know what he's done." Caressa turned to look at her companion. "Meg, you are my friend, do not put on a charade when we both know what's happening."

"You're right, I do know what's happening. The Phantom has threatened my mother; he will harm her if she interferes. I should not be here, but I must warn you: Your life is not the only one in danger. If you do anything foolish, everyone in the opera house could be in danger." Caressa could not believe what Meg was suggesting.

Caressa spoke in a biting whisper, "I know that! You think that my selfishness has caused me to forget! In the night he comes into my room! In the morning he stands a changing screen away while I'm naked! I must allow him to touch my hair and put his hands on my body, because of the danger he could cause to other people! Not once have I cared about my safety over other's while in his presence." Her body shook with anger, "Oh, God, and his touches frighten me so."

Her friend moved to her side of the carriage and patted her back, "It is a horrible burden to bear. I'm sure I can't understand what it's like. I have been crude in my warning. Please, do not forget to take care of yourself. Perhaps you should find a small blade to carry about your person. Do what he asks of you if it is within reason. What has he asked of you so far?" Meg was not doing much to ease her troubled mind.

She coughed lightly and thought back. "He has asked me not to speak of him to anyone," she recalled

"Oh, has he harmed you? Has he . . . forced you to . . ." She knew what Meg implied.

"No, he hasn't harmed me in anyway," she revealed. Silence followed for a moment before Caressa spoke again, "What did he want from Christine?"

The look on Meg's face was blank as she looked for the right answer: "Everything."

"Oh—" The carriage jerked to a stop. "We're here." Woman and girl quickly exited the carriage. "Merci, monsieur," Caressa thanked the cabby quietly, and he drove off without looking back at her.

They entered the music shop together, and noticed that the employees were no where to be seen. Caressa walked straight toward the composition paper, and collected a few sheaves. Meg was examining a row of violins on the wall.

Then Caressa saw her second favourite thing in the shop, the grand piano. It was the most precious instrument her brother had in the shop, but it belonged to her. She sat down and played a scale without pushing down the ivory keys.

Suddenly, a hand came around her eyes, and a man's voice uttered in her ear, "If you're not going to read the sign that states: 'Do not sit at piano,' why not just play it?" He pulled her out from the bench and spun her around.

"You're going to break something! Put me down, Heinrich!" She laughed at him, and he set her down. He wrapped his arms around her and kissed the top of her head.

"I thought I told you to send a picture. It wasn't like I really wanted to see you, you runt," he joked, and she pushed him away playfully.

"I'm here on business anyway, take this list and find me all that is on it," she commanded, flourishing the not through the air.

"You're giving me orders. All right, what do I have for you today?" He ripped the list out of her hand. "Why do you need this? You don't play the violin." His brow creased in wonderment.

"Oh, Jacqueline asked me to get these things for her," she lied to her brother.

"Jacqueline has this kind of money? Well, hang on a moment." He walked back behind the counter into another room. A moment later he returned with a few wrapped packages and flung them into Caressa's arms. "There, that's everything and you already have the paper. Payment?" He inquired.

"Oh, here." She handed him the purse Erik had given her.

"Who's your friend?" His face went slack, and his head inclined toward Meg.

"Meg, come here. Meg Giry, this is Heinrich. Heinrich this is Meg Giry, a friend and teacher of mine." At this introduction, Heinrich held his hand out to take Meg's; she complied with a quick shake. When it was done, Meg was blushing furiously.

"A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mademoiselle Giry," Heinrich assured her with a weak smile.

"I feel the same, Heinrich," Meg replied. Her face was very red, and Heinrich began shifting his feet.

"Caressa, you and I will go to lunch. Mademoiselle Giry, would you like to attend?" He asked considerately.

"No, I'm sorry, I can't. I have other errands to run. But, thank you. In fact, I should go now. Good-day," she murmured all of this as she made her way to exit the shop.

"Good-day!" Caressa and Heinrich called after her.

Heinrich started laughing uncontrollably. "What a strange woman. Such appalling manners."

"She is my friend! You are a strange man!" Caressa shot back at him, and slugged his arm.

His arm went around her shoulder. "Come on, I'll get my coat, close up, and we'll go to the nearest cafe."

"All right, but hurry, I need to return for rehearsals," she instructed him. He ran behind the counter again. When he returned he grabbed a key and locked the door as they left. Then they made their way to the nearest cafe.

"I don't want to have to carry these any further. Might we sit here?" Caressa wondered as they reached the outside seating of the cafe. As she bent to sit Heinrich pulled out the chair for her.

When he sat across from her, Caressa noticed his countenance had become serious. "Oh, how I've missed you, my dear sister. Your face was the last I'd expected to see smiling up at me today. There are a few matters I've been meaning to discuss with you." He held her gloved hands in his palms as he considered where to begin. "Your father has drawn up documents for a divorce from my mother. They've separated and both are willing. Your father wants you to come home to visit as soon as you can."

She was amazed, it was a dream come true. Her father would be free from that wretched woman. She had prayed countless times that her father would come to his senses and free himself from her stepmother, and she felt a wave of relief.

"I knew you would be happy. The look on your face is perfection; you may be the only other person on the planet whose relief rivals my own." Heinrich paused and sighed. "Also, I've disowned her." His jaw clenched shut after revealing this to Caressa.

"Who? Your—your mother? Can you do that?" She wondered in disbelief.

He nodded and grinned.

"It was Hell, but I'm free of her. Your father allowed me to continue managing the business. He told me it was the least he could do after all I had done to protect you from her." Caressa pulled her chair around next to him. Then he asked, "Would it be all right if I came to see you more often?"

"Of course, you may come to visit me whenever you like," she answered happily. She held his hands in hers, pulling them to her lips. "You and Christophe are my whole world, I could always do with more of you."

"How is your ballet?" Heinrich crooned, and rested his head against hers.

She had almost forgotten to tell him, "I secured the lead in the next production."

"Principal?" He questioned and she saw the excitement and pride on his face.

"Sort of… I'll be Carmen," she breathed in timid voice.

"_Carmen?_ The _Carmen_? She sings doesn't she? How did you get roped into that?" She suspected he would react in such a manner.

"Can't you be happy for me? I can do it. I thought you might at least say '_well done_.'" Her brother was the only person she ever felt truly needed to be proud of her.

"I am so very proud of you. My little Caressa, playing Carmen before all of Paris. Though you must forgive me, this is your first performance with an actual role. What if you become overwhelmed? The casting manager must is surely a cruel man." He wasn't wrong, but he wasn't quite right either. He decided to change the subject, "This is a beautiful dress, why are you wearing it?" He moved her wrap to get a better look.

"Does it look that dreadful on me?" She asked him seriously.

"I was only joking, it's stunning on you. It's cut rather low, I thought you were modest." He smiled wide, and his eyes laughed at her.

"Oh, aren't you the clown today? What next, a quip about my hair?" She giggled.

He ran his hand over her hair, "No, it looks exquisite." He ran is hand over it once more and she remembered the Phantom—Erik.

"Heinrich, I have to go. Please, come see me soon." They stood together. "I love you so much," she told him, then kissed his cheek and draped her arms around him. For a moment she held him there wishing she didn't have to go back to the cold, unfeeling opera house. All that she wanted was the warmth of her brother's arms around her. After what seemed like five minutes of completely warm silence, she pulled away.

"I love you. Take care of yourself," he order and shoved her lightly toward the road. "Your people await you."

"Farewell," Caressa called, and ran off to find a carriage.

* * *

When she returned she heard the gigantic grand father clock in the entrance hall dully chiming the hour. _One, two, three, four_ chimes.

Four chimes—_FOUR chimes!_

"I'm late!" She exclaimed and bolted up the stairs, passed a few members of the corps, and down the dressing room hallway. There was a strong hesitation pulsing through her mind_. What will he do? But I shouldn't be any later? Should I lie? Would he believe me? The truth, I'll tell him the truth, and accept the punishment, _she decided.

After the knob turned, she pushed the door open cautiously before stepping in. Her eyes went around the room; he was sitting in the chair by the door, just as she had left him. His head was down, held by his gloved palm. He was resting his elbow on the leg that crossed on his knee.

"A simple order was all that I asked," he growled. He looked at her and she immediately knew that she would not see kindness from him this afternoon. "What else should I expect from a child? Give them a note and they take a symphony."

"I am sorry, master, it is my fau—"

"Speak when I require it of you!" He snapped at her. Tears started to form in Caressa's eyes in response to the overwhelming fury in his voice. "However, I am relieved you knew to call me 'master' now. I shall teach you not to disobey me. Put my things on the bed," he demanded harshly. She followed his order, but made the mistake of turning her back to him. As she stepped away from the bed she backed into his chest. It was an occurrence that she felt was becoming too familiar. "It is little known that the most effective way to discipline a child is the same manner in which you would punish a dog," he whispered coolly.

Caressa turned to face him, gulping back all of the tears she had not cried that day until a lump formed in her throat. Her bravest expression was staring into his fiercest one. Her master placed his arms about her, and embraced her tightly. He stroked her hair as well. Confusion swelled in her head, and she decided it was best to follow his lead. Caressa's arms went about her master's abdomen awkwardly.

"Do you feel safe? Like this?" He whispered as his hands slowly caressed the back of her neck.

"Yes, master," she lied for what seemed like the hundredth time that day.

"Perhaps you are well skilled in deceiving, but not when it concerns me," he growled at her before clamping his hand around the base of her neck, and throwing her at the wall. She fell in heap, striking the wall hadn't hurt terribly, but the pain in her neck was immense. Once again he came to her, kneeled before her, and pinned her shoulders to the wall viciously.

She struck out violently with her hands and feet, connecting again and again with his solid form. He appeared to be unaffected by her efforts. She felt like a weak little butterfly that was about to be dissected. Every tear she had held inside was cascading down her face as she kneed him hard in the stomach. Caressa couldn't see him anymore, as her own tears blinded her.

"Don't hurt me! Please don't hurt me again!" She began to cry out. "I'll be good, I'll be perfect just for you! Please stop, Erik. Stop, stop, stop, stop . . ."

Suddenly, the pain was gone from her shoulders. She ceased her movements. Then she felt something on her face. It was his hand, but it was no longer encompassed by leather.

"Don't you see that I had to do this? I didn't want to hurt you, but you need to obey me. You hurt yourself when you disobeyed me. Follow my instructions and I will keep you safe. Look at me." She did as he asked, and saw that the fire was gone from his eyes. "I can help you achieve everything you've ever wanted. All I ask is that you give yourself over to studying music."

_Give myself over to you, _she thought.

"All you ask of me is everything?" She asked.

"Yes! And I will teach you things Madame Giry couldn't dream of." He lifted her off the ground and carried her to her bed as if she were a child.

"Please, don't harm her, Erik," she begged him. He stared at her in surprise.

"She will not be harmed as long as she stays out of my affairs," he told her bluntly, and set her down on the bed. "Rest now."

"It's only after 4:00," Caressa muttered, before she could stop herself.

Erik put his hand on her chest and pushed her down into the mattress. "Rest, tonight we will have a lesson, but I need to prepare. You must regain your strength, last night you were quite restless, and now you are . . . unsettled." Her tears had subsided, and she laid back in order to please him. He placed the blankets over her, and kissed her forehead again before taking his things.

He left through the mirror without another word, and one thought went through Caressa's mind. It wasn't another struggle with whether or not he was demon or angel, but it was a statement she knew to be true: _He is insane._


	6. Cruel to Be Kind

Reviews are most welcome.

* * *

**Chapter 6: Cruel to be Kind**

Caressa remained abed for a few minutes, until it was safe to assume that the Phantom was no longer on the other side of the mirror. She shoved the blankets off of herself and ran to the vanity. There were large red marks rising up in the shape of fingerprints on the back of her neck.

"Oh, God," she whispered as she prodded them gently. Her eyes searched for the water pitcher in the corner. It was still there on the counter, next to the rose. Caressa walked over and poured some water on a cloth.

It relieved a bit of the pain when she placed it under her hair. She returned to lie on the bed and thought perhaps she should remove her gown. _He will be coming back soon, and it would be pointless._ She lay on her stomach and attempted to sleep.

Caressa was launched into a dream after sleep finally came over her. Once again she was restless. In her dream a creature was biting at her neck, and she struggled to see it through the darkness. She woke again when the biting reduced itself to a dull ache.

* * *

When her eyes fluttered open a low, unladylike groan escaped her throat.

"Do not move. I misunderstood how badly I had harmed you," Erik spoke softly. He was dabbing a freezing cloth on her neck. "Overreaction does not explain my behaviour. I treated you as an animal, and was blinded by anger that was not meant for you, child." His hand moved over her back in what was meant as a comforting gesture. He then offhandedly remarked, "Perhaps there were scenarios I had not considered. You were going to tell me the truth, I could see it in your eyes." He remained silent and still for a moment, then breathed in her ear, "I savagely attacked you, and now ask for your trust. You must think me mad."

Her head pivoted toward him. "Perhaps everyone acts madly at times. I ask only that I not be the one you bear your rage upon." She averted her eyes. "The pain is only dull now." The light in the room had dimmed; _I must have been asleep longer than I'd imagined._ "Have I slept too long? What about the lesson?"

"It has been delayed until tomorrow so that I have time to heal you." The cloth working at her neck suddenly stopped.

_Please, don't stop,_ she wanted to whimper at him. Instead she stuck her face back into the pillow. A smooth pressure contacted one of her bruises, while something cold touched her skin to the left of it. Her head moved again and she saw that he was skimming his lips against her skin, and the coolness was his porcelain mask. He blew cool air onto her skin as he skimmed the last of the five bruises.

A shudder went through her spine at the sensation. _How fine_, Caressa thought.

"Have I harmed you once more?" He whispered with a hint of what sounded like fear.

"Not at all. It was... relieving." That was the only word that sounded proper to her in that situation.

"That shall have to do."

The cloth returned to her neck, and she hissed with pleasure. "Is this why you are called an angel?" She joked.

"Would an angel harm you in this way?" He responded distantly, hearing Christine's voice in his ears.

"I suppose not. I cannot say I've known an angel's touch." Her speech became increasingly lower in volume as her eyes closed.

Erik began to rise from the bed, but a hand brushed his leg blindly. "Stay until I fall asleep, and wake me if I'm restless. Please, Erik?" At the sound of her voice slurring his name he froze, "Erik?"

"Yes, I am here." He sat back down, and stroked her back until he knew she had fallen into a slumber. With a glance at the content look on her face he sat in his chair next to the door. Until the next morning he sat, watching her, waiting for her to become restless.

* * *

She was not affected by restlessness, and the moment she became conscious "Erik?" was the first word she called out.

When she had called out his name he was no longer in his chair. The Phantom had escaped back into his darkness to gain his composure. He had been in the same position for hours, and needed to rest whether he would admit to it or not.

Caressa turned around and felt her neck. It did not hurt unless she pressed it. An envelope was sitting on her vanity; she walked over and took the letter out slowly.

_"Caressa,_

_Dress for rehearsals, hurry._  
_Yours,_

_Erik"_

"'Yours'?" She was taken aback before she recalled their conversation the night before; he had been kind and lucid. Her mind began to awaken and she realized she needed to move quickly. She swiftly pulled on her practice leotard, and then reminded herself to be fitted for another one soon. It had grown too small for her tall frame.

The halls were empty until she reached the backstage where a few girls stared at her with glum looks.

"Oh, Caressa!" Reinette cried from behind her, and then she ran to embrace her friend, "I've missed you these past few days."

"It's only been two days, I didn't travel round the world," she laughed at her friend.

"Come on, Caressa, practice is almost starting. Oh, and don't pay attention to anyone. Some . . . rumours have been going around about you." Caressa was worried that someone had found out about the Phantom.

"Why? What have you heard?" She asked and pulled Reinette behind a backdrop.

"Well, last night, a younger ballet girl claims she walked by your dressing room. Said she was lost, and that when she walked by the door she heard a man's voice shout, 'I will teach you not to disobey me! Go sit on the bed!' And then she told us she waited and heard you screaming. That's all she'd heard before she ran away." Reinette recounted this without much fervor; probably believing the to be false. "Everyone thought you'd been molested."

_He hadn't said 'Go sit on the bed.' And did I really scream? _She assessed her friend's story, "Reinette, that is rubbish. It never happened, the girl was telling lies." Her friend seemed completely convinced, and Caressa appeared to be in fine health.

"Of course she was." Jacqueline's head swiveled around the backdrop. "Now, why are we hiding back here? Come on, Madame Giry will have our heads," Jacqueline warned. The girls made their way to the stage. "And Caressa, put your hair up."

_The bruises! _Caressa gasped. "Oh, yes, thank you for reminding me." She pulled her hair back to hang loosely, but did not dare to put it in a bun.

"Mademoiselle Bucher, welcome back," Madame Giry called and crossed the stage to her side.

"Thank you, Madame," she said quietly. She did not feel brave enough to look her teacher in the face.

"Everyone, gather round!" Giry called, "Everyone, the parts will be posted after rehearsals today. Alas, there are not many spare vocal ballet parts, but the corps performs in smaller sections."

"Great, now it'll be easier to tell who mucked up their part," Jacqueline snickered to a group of girls.

"Silence!" Giry glared at Jacqueline. "All of you will be beautiful. Now, let us begin practice." And so they began.

While in mid-pirouette Jacqueline stopped Caressa to say, "You've hit me in the face with your hair twice. Just put it in a bun!"

"Oh, you know, my ribbon isn't long enough, I'll just tuck it in the back of my—"

"Nonsense, you can borrow a spare." She took a ribbon off her wrist.

"Really, it's all right—"

"Fine, I'll do it for you." Jacqueline quickly grabbed her hair, lifted it up for a moment, and then let it slip out of her fingers. "Oh, my God, it's true, the little girl wasn't lying. Was she?"

"Girls, why aren't you moving?" Madame Giry barked at them.

Caressa whispered low to her friend, "Please, don't say anything to anyone. Especially Reinette. Please, Jacqueline!"

"Not a soul," Jacqueline promised. They stopped talking and joined in synch with the others. Caressa was able to lose herself in the only pleasure she had found in days; she felt strong and sure as she glided about the stage.

* * *

Once rehearsals had ended the girls were swarming into the foyer to discover their parts. Many walked away disappointed at being landed in the corps again. A few girls were smiling gaily that they had gotten more prominent roles. However, all of the girls glared at Caressa when she entered the room and walked down the staircase slowly. This reaction was not uncommon, and with the story that had been passed around most thought she had slept with a manager.

Madame Giry attempted to quash that thought, "Caressa, congratulations, you have been chosen to lead our performance." She announced it as if Caressa had not known. She could spy a vein pulsing madly in Madame Giry's neck.

After a moment of silence Caressa forced herself to let tears well in her eyes. "Oh, Madame, thank you so much!" She ran down the remaining steps and embraced her teacher. Acting was of the essence, and thinking of how she would react if she were ever properly given the lead was all she had to go on.

"You deserved it," her teacher replied so that only she could hear. A few girls called out their congratulations.

"Of course she does!" Reinette and Jacqueline exclaimed simultaneously.

Most girls began to disappear from the room.

"Caressa, may I speak with you for a moment? In private?" Her teacher requested when only a few girls remained.

"I really should be going. My studies await me." She hoped Madame Giry would simply let her go.

"I do not give a damn about what he will do to me. You are in danger. Come with me, now!" She ordered in a commanding tone she had never used before, even in practice, and led her away. "I will take you to perhaps the only place in the opera he does not have access to—My room."

When she opened the door it was pitch black. Caressa pushed her way into the dark, and calmed once a lamp had been lit. The room was small, with a bed for one, a vanity, and several photographs.

"Let me get a good look at you. I've heard enough lies to know when a little girl is telling the truth." She inspected up and down Caressa's arms, smeared her hands over her face checking for make-up, and then reached for her hair.

"I'm fine, Madame," she insisted. Madame Giry shook her head, and moved her hair.

"Oh, Caressa, he is a monster." A comforting arm went around the girl's shoulder. "Tell me the truth, now," Giry demanded softly. "Has he harmed you directly?"

Caressa nodded.

Giry thought for a moment, and then grimly asked, "Did he touch you?"

Caressa nodded in confusion, _He harmed me directly, and of course he touched me, _she reasoned to herself_._

"Caressa, my dear little girl, has he . . . forced himself on you?"

"NO! No! No, why does everyone keep asking that? It makes me more frightened than I already am!" Feeling flustered, Caressa bolted up. "Madame, I think I need a new leotard. If you see Anna the seamstress, could you tell her I'm looking for her? Really, I must go." She went to the door and waited a moment. "One must be cruel in order to be kind," And with that she took her leave.

"Oh, Caressa," the Madame muttered when she was gone.

* * *

As Caressa entered her room no sound reached her; she was not late again.

_Gown, _she reminded herself_._ "Oh, yes." It took her a few moments to change and she did so directly in front of the armoire, using the same method as the previous day, _He will just have to tie my corset again._

Though Erik was already ahead of her as she felt the laces being tugged back harshly. Her head snapped around to look at him, but his eyes were closed.

"Open your eyes. I'll trust that you mean me no harm. . . This evening," she chuckled. His eyes opened on her sad smirk.

"You're mocking me? I am not the one in a compromising position." She couldn't tell if he was joking or not. He finished and leaned in towards her ear. "I was jesting."

"Oh, I wasn't entirely sure," she admitted and scratched her cheek.

He took her hand. "Oh, your gloves. I brought you a pair of new ones. The latest fashion, I assure you." He pulled them from his jacket after he removed his cloak. They were indeed beautiful and no doubt expensive. The lace was so delicate, it appeared as if it had been spun by spiders.

"I cannot accept those from you. I apologize, but I cannot. It would not be proper. Quite a waste of such beauty." She assumed he did not understand the meaning of a lady receiving gloves from a man she did not entirely intend to marry.

"Do not wear them into church. It is only an acceptance of betrothal if you wear them to church. And to me they are simply a gift of new gloves, not a proposal," he assured her that he understood.

"I suppose that you are right. Thank you." She almost smiled at him, and squeezed his hand gently, not wanting to kiss him again. "Should we start the lesson now?" She asked.

"Yes, first, you are aware of the notes, chords and soltege, etcetera?" He had underestimated her greatly.

"I do live inside an opera house, master," she answered with no small amount of cheek.

"Perhaps, I should assess your voice first." He stood behind her. "Once again, I apologize for your neck." His hand closed around the front of her throat with the tips of his fingers on her jaw, and the other came around to press her stomach. This proved to be a very unorthodox position for her.

"What are you doing, master?" He did not move his arms after she implored to him nervously.

"This will help you project your voice, and teach you how to hold your body when you sing," he explained to her in a placid tone.

"Oh," was all she could manage to choke out.

"Now, listen to my voice, pay close attention while I sing to you. Realize how the music seems tangible, like you could reach out and caress it. Experience how it feels inside your heart, and inside your soul." For a moment all she heard was his quiet breathing, then a sound filled the air that made her understand his words, and feel sensations she had never dreamed existed before:

_"You make me languish, though I've hurt you not:  
You do not write, you do not ask for me;  
In spite of all, the others I'll not see:  
I'd sooner die than change my loving thought._  
_To see your love erased does make me sigh,  
And daily I complain of sadness now  
That far from you, I think of you, and how  
You may be longing, lonesome, as am I."_

In his arms, she suddenly felt safe. Her head lolled back against his shoulder, and she was reminded of the time Jacqueline had snuck wine from the previous year's Masquerade Ball. Each of the girls had a bottle of her own, and Caressa had quickly found her blood turning warm, and her spirit being lifted high out of her mortal form. Erik's voice had the same effect, and she swore she could feel her spirit escaping toward him, despite the harm he had previously caused her. To listen to his voice brought her closer to heaven, and so she happily endured it.


	7. Shiver, Quiver, and Lie

Reviews are most welcome.

* * *

**Chapter 7: Shiver, Quiver and Lie**

For nearly a month Caressa and her master carried on in the same manner. There were no more rages from the Phantom, although Caressa was scolded thoroughly if she were ever late, or concealing her best effort. Her teacher understood when she told him her brother was visiting, and allowed her to see him so that he would not grow suspicious. However he had always gone along to be certain it was truly her brother she was meeting, and it always had been.

Caressa's budding voice had grown into such an extraordinary instrument in that short time that she hardly recognized her own speaking voice, let alone her singing voice. Her voice had developed from that of a child's to a young woman's in mere weeks, with the influence of her master.

Despite their near constant practice, Erik regretted that she had not outgrown her soubrette voice, though it could be conquered in time. Her bright voice was attributed to her youth, and that was not something that would be gone in a mere month.

They had practiced in her room, and occasionally on the stage in the dead of night. He told her to imagine that the house was full, with everyone's eyes on her, but she needed to disregard them. His was the only opinion that was of any relevance. No matter how hard she worked, she always delayed for a moment or two before her voice sang out the words.

Compared to her midnight singing lessons, dancing ballet seemed simple to her. She had known everything physical, mental, and emotional about the art of ballet. Singing, however, she had known from books, and lessons she'd taught herself. Her master taught her things about music that only the most skilled virtuoso could possibly know.

After a month of lessons, the two had become more relaxed around each other. Caressa had not made any remotely affectionate mannerisms towards Erik, but she had allowed for an innocent companionship to blossom. Erik had stopped coming to her side while she was sleeping, however some nights he sat in his chair by the door. Caressa had labeled it 'The Master's Throne,' because he always sat in it while he was frustrated. She had never known he watched her sleep while he was in it.

When she had mastered something new he would grin, and take his leave for the night. That grin pleased her sometimes, but it unnerved her as well. The shade of his eyes would become darker, as if he were a large cat ready to jump at her. Though he never had.

Her progress had not surprised him. Instead it seemed like everything was going exactly to plan in his mind. The performance night was approaching quickly, and the single obstacle they faced was her momentary delays.

"The hour is late. If you simply begin with the music once, then you may retire," he assured her of that when he grew impatient.

"All right," she agreed, twisting her hands in her skirt. She knew they would end up trying a few more times before she satisfied him completely.

He counted her out and started to play the violin. She paused, "_Près-_"

"Stop! Again, just begin singing when I start playing, I'm not asking you to gut a man onstage!" He roared. This outburst startled her, and she realized she had better get it right the next time. Once again he counted to three and they began together.

"_Près des remparts de Séville,_  
_Chez mon ami Lillas Pastia_  
_J'irai danser la Séguedille._  
_Et boire du Manzanilla._  
_J'irai chez mon ami Lillas Pastia._  
_Oui, mais toute seule on s'ennuie,_  
_Et les vrais plaisirs sont à deux;_  
_Donc, pour me tenir compagnie,_  
_J'emmènerai mon amoureux-_"

The violin stopped. "That will be all for tonight." He grinned at her, and she knew that she had pleased him. She found it odd how abruptly he cut had her off though. _Perhaps he has grown too impatient to teach any longer? _She reasoned.

She began walking backstage. "Caressa?" He called.

"Yes . . ." She glanced as him before she finished, " . . . Erik?" She gravitated back toward him.

"I may see you before the performance tomorrow, perhaps I will not. So I will tell you now. You will make me proud." His hand grasped her jaw gently. "You must remember: I am the only one in the room. You are singing for me, and no one else. There is no reason to be afraid in my presence. Sing as I've taught you." He placed a chaste kiss in the center of her forehead.

"Thank you, for all that you have taught me, Erik," she replied. She had thought to somehow reciprocate his action, but acted against it. "Please, rest tonight, you must be alert to every aspect of my performance."

"And you rest, little one, you must have all of your strength to perform tomorrow," after these words were spoken, they separated and went their own ways.

Caressa fell asleep the moment her head hit her pillow.

Erik lie awake, his eyes wide open. _She is so near to perfection, and so very lovely. _The red satin cushions in his coffin felt to him like stones beneath his body. He ran his hand over his bare forehead, he remembered her lips on his forehead from the kiss she had planted almost a month beforehand. The lid of his coffin closed as tormented and screaming images ran wild within his mind.

* * *

The morning of the performance, Caressa waited as long as she dared for Erik, but he never arrived.

It was frantic backstage, full force mayhem; performers ripped their customs left and right. Ballet girls fainted under their nerves. It was what was expected at every show opening, but it was never a routine endeavor.

Caressa was unseen amongst the throng of cast and crew. She went to her designated preparation area, and was changed for the last dress rehearsal. By then it was easy for her to change into all of the costumes in time to run out onto the stage.

Rehearsal had gone perfectly, and everyone appeared to be prepared for the performance. Around 6:00 the audience was slowly ushered into their seats. After the incident in the previous years the managers were surprised to find the showing sold out to the promise of a new, ethereal talent.

Caressa continually surveyed Box 5 from backstage, but he had not arrived yet. She told herself that he would certainly be there to watch her.

The curtain rose on a chorus of soldiers standing outside the cigarette factory. When Caressa entered the stage as Carmen, the audience quieted immediately in anticipation. As she began to sing she could feel his presence among the hundreds of guests that attended in the opera house. '_You are singing for me, no one else._' She heard his voice in her head, and she whipped her hair at her fellow performer, acting the seductress.

Once the show had ended, after Carmen's death, the performers received an agreeable ovation. Not a soul had noticed that "Carmen" was looking to one Box alone. He stood very much the same as the other patrons, though he was unmoving otherwise. Tears ran down the ingénue's eyes, and everyone mistook them for tears of joy. _He is unhappy with my performance, _she thought_. _The curtains closed and the cast sprinted away.

Jacqueline embraced Caressa, "Oh, you were so gorgeous! What in the Hell are you crying about?"

"I'm so very tired, I can barely stand. Please, you go celebrate with the others. Have fun, but be careful." She pushed her friend. "Have a good night."

"Later then!" Jacqueline called as she ran off to join the festivities.

The principal manager sidled up next to her. "There have been crowds of people begging to meet with you! Will you receive—" He began.

"I will see no one, monsieur," Caressa answered with definite finality. "Do not disturb me for any reason when I go to my room. You and your partner owe me that at least." He knew immediately what she insinuated against him.

"Yes, mademoiselle, of course." He turned to leave her, but then turned back again, remembering, "It nearly slipped my mind, this letter arrived for you in the morning." Caressa took the envelope extended to her.

"Thank you, monsieur . . . truly, thank you," she told him, and turned away.

* * *

Upon returning to her room she saw several people chasing each other up and down the halls. Once she had finally reached her room she bolted the door shut, and slid down hard against it. It was so strange to her that a man who had ripped away every sense of freedom she had ever known, could still be the only person she felt a need to please. From her place on the ground she bitterly flicked her unopened letter at the vanity, and broke into a new set of tears.

"Caressa Bucher, such an unhappy girl, why do you cry this night?" Her face rose to look at the figure looming over her.

"My performance displeased you, I displeased you. For that I know I shall be punished," she explained and attempted to stop crying, but she was only able to lessen it. "I am ashamed of myself, please, I am frighten-"

"And what shall your punishment be?" He barked out as he questioned her.

She waited for a moment before answering. " . . . Death?" His laughter filled the room just as his singing had many times before.

Erik knelt to her in front of the door, and asked, "Why would you believe I was displeased?"

"But you—you only stood there." _Had he not been displeased?_ She questioned herself.

He removed a glove, and stroked her tears, "Your performance was beyond hand gestures, and it was beyond any words I have ever known."

"Oh, Erik!" Her arms flew around his neck, and she pulled him to her. He buried his face in her soft, warm hair. She whispered into his ear, "You will never known how much that pleases me. Oh, thank you." They remained in an embrace until Caressa removed the traces of tears from her face, and pulled away from his warmth. Immediately, and rather strangely, she yearned to feel his arms tightly around her once more.

While she went to her armoire, he sat in his chair by the door. He waited as she changed into her night clothes. A smile was trying to hide itself when she stepped out. It wouldn't go away, and he returned the gesture She noticed her letter was lying on the vanity, and she reached for it. Heinrich had sent it a few days before from her father's home in Lille, and had sloppily scrawled out the address.

_Heinrich hadn't been here? How could I have completely forgotten my brother? Wait... why is he in Lille? _Those questions popped into her head, and she realized immediately she would not enjoy the letter within her hands. Knowing that it would eat at her mind if she did not, she tore it open, and read.

Erik watched her smile promptly die while she examined the letter. After furrowing her eyebrows she had opened it, and her eyes went back and forth quickly, then cautiously. When she finished, the letter was placed back into the envelope, and she walked towards him slowly. At his boots she stopped and stared down at the ground. He was going to ask about her wellness, but she swayed and fell hard to the floor.

She clamped her arms around his legs and buried her face into his knees. Stunned by her sudden mercurial moods, he reached for her as if she was a cat whom would bite if surprised. "What's happened?" He asked her in worry. He gripped her chin lightly and forced her to look at him with her newly wet eyes.

Once again she stunned him as she removed her arms from his legs and trapped him around the waist, crying into his stomach, "My father—he is dead!"

"Shhh," Erik tried to quiet her tears, "Shhh." He grasped her arms as gently as possible and rose to his feet, taking the girl with him. If she had been any more limp he thought she could have been a corpse. After taking a better hold on the young woman's shaking form, he carried her to the bed and lay her down.

He attempted to pull away, but she gripped his shoulders from around his back. The legs beneath him gave way and he was kneeling by her bed, encased in her arms. The force of strength with which she held him was astonishing. Each cry was muffled into his cravat as she crushed her face into his chest.

That was not a position he was familiar with, some one pulling him closer instead of forcing him away. It _nearly_ shamed him that he had been thinking of himself in that situation. When a girl who had newly lost her only parent was pouring her heart out in anguish. For sometime he remained there, cherishing the feeling she caused inside him; during which she was no doubt experiencing the worst pain of her life. Suddenly, he realized that he needed to stop being foolish, and comfort her. He stroked her back, kissed her head, but nothing would cause her sobbing to cease.

In a last resort he sang to calm her:

"_Grimly, faintly, your poor heart is breaking. . . __Calm you, heal you—all pain away I'm taking... Find slumber now my love, I am watching from above, and know that I will always hold you tight—__find the rest that you have searched for through the night_..."

Her sobs became distant, and he heard her begin to hiccup. The vice grip around his shoulders weakened, and he sat back to look upon her face. There had been such deep pain in her features; her entire face was red and swollen from crying.

"Oh, Erik, I have never felt such heartache! Make it stop, tell me it's not true!" Her voice broke more with every word. All her tears had caused her throat to grow raw, and she could not keep from shaking.

It took a summoning of great courage before he acted next. While he still knelt before her, he removed his coat and put it around her shoulders. Then he unbuttoned his waistcoat, removed his boots, and eased himself onto the bed next to her.

After a moment's hesitation Caressa laid her head on his chest, and burrowed close to his warmth again. She forced herself not to cry, and tried to focus on his peaceful breathing. It took a large amount of effort, but she finally matched his rhythm of breaths. His satin-lined coat was smooth and heated from being on his body. The feel of the coat dampened when she registered his soothing, masculine scent.

"How did it happen?" The movement in his chest startled her as he spoke.

"He was found in his bed by a friend, the physician said his heart was very weak. My papa _never _told me of a malady in his letters," a watery hoarseness was extremely evident in her speech.

"Shall you go north, then?"

"No, the funeral is to be held in Spain. He is to buried next to my mother." She paused, fearing his reaction to her next statement, "My brother will meet me in Paris, and then we shall travel to Seville. You must understand, Erik. My father is gone, and I must go to say good-bye."

Erik did not speak; he would have the managers postpone the next show until she was able to return. _How long shall she be gone_? He wondered. _What if she does not return_?

"Of course, I know of my responsibilities, and shall return soon." She seemed to read his mind. "Oh, please, will you sing for me, Erik?"

He shifted to lie flat on is back, "For you alone, my sad little angel," he whispered and then sang her a requiem lullaby.

Before long she was sound asleep with her head atop his chest. It was one of the best moments of his life, that had been brought on by the most horrible of circumstances. _It shall always be this way_, he thought. He watched the sleeping young woman, and realized her hot breath on his chest was more warming than any clothing.

He worked deftly to place her beside him so that he could slip away to his chair. He knew he could not lie with her any longer without feeling utterly in the wrong. Even the Phantom's skilled maneuvers had not kept her at rest. At his first movement she awoke and slid her arm around his stomach.

"Are you going?" She whispered accusingly to him with new tears in her eyes.

"I thought you might like me to leave you alone on the bed," he lied quickly.

"Oh, no! Please, don't leave me!" She whispered to him again, and pulled her body closer to his. "I need you, that sounds so childish and improper, but I do, I do now. Stay with me, Erik, please, only you shall make me feel at ease."

All the words she spoke were the exact words he had always wanted to hear. But he was just a man who was there for her. She wanted her father, but he was the closest male. Her warm body against him was worth one night of agony, and he would not hurt her again.

"I shall not leave you, I will stay." Guilt was laced in his words, but she never heard a hint of it.

Her other hand slid up his chest to his shoulder, and Caressa shifted her head closer to his. An elbow supported her as she leaned over his face. "Thank you, my angel." She removed her other hand from his stomach, and brought it to sweep a lock of hair off his mask.

The girl was driving him insane, and in her innocence she had no idea.

"You are chilled?" She asked. He looked at her in a confused manner, maybe she hadn't read his mind. "You're quivering as well, Erik." Without waiting for an answer she pulled the blankets over them.

"Try to sleep," Erik told her.

"Hmm, I shall try." Caressa leaned over and kissed his eyelids closed. Then kissed his chin before placing her head in the crook of his neck. "That's how my father use to put me to sleep . . . When I was still allowed to come home."

The girl fell asleep almost immediately, which relieved Erik. She hadn't noticed his ragged and laboured breathing. It amazed him that someone who could make him feel staggering sensations had no way of knowing what they were doing. Her breath came in short pants until she had been unconscious for an hour.

Once she was deep in sleep she began restlessly moving around. Involuntarily, she made low groaning noises in her throat. Erik remained motionless when she moved her arm about his chest, and wrapped one of her legs over one of his. After she stopped moving she remained still the rest of the night. He believed that in all probability, if she had moved anymore, he would have shed tears at the frustration.

Christine had never let him hold her like that. _Christine. Oh, Christine_. At the thought of his most-prized pupil, he pulled Caressa tighter to him. _I shall not make mistakes with you. I shall not hurt you._ "I'll protect you, little one," he promised the sleeping girl softly.

* * *

In the morning, Erik was still alert. He nearly jumped when he heard a knock at the door. _Damn_! He had shaken Caressa before she finally opened her eyes. "Stay quiet, someone is at the door," he hissed under his breath.

The knocking came again, "One moment, I am not decent. Please, just one moment," she called. It was early and her brain was slowly awakening. She looked to Erik who was pulling on his boots. "Go on, you have to get out of here," she ordered quietly.

"Caressa, it's Heinrich," her brother said before opening the door. She whipped around to see the reaction on Erik's face, but he was no longer there. Heinrich stood in the doorway a moment before they ran to embrace each other. "I'm so sorry," he told her sincerely.

"Shhh. None of that now. How did you come so quickly?" She asked with her head on his shoulder.

"Have you only just received the letter? I posted it a few days ago. Sending it was the last thing I did before made my way to Paris." It had seemed foolish that he would arrive in only a night.

"Oh, but I'm so glad you've come," Caressa admitted, and was close to tears once again.

"I should have told you in person, but I needed you to know before I arrived. It was horrible to have left you on your own knowing this information. God knows I should have been here to comfort you," he told her. If anyone could comfort her, it was her brother, but suddenly, Erik entered her mind.

_Erik. Can I leave him here?_ As her thoughts turned to him, she glanced at the bed and nearly screamed when she saw his white mask staring at her from under the bed. _Oh, he will be peeved at having to display such cowardice._

"No, no. I am all righ... Well, not all right, but it was an angel's work that I finally found rest." It had been a terrible pun, but she knew Erik would be amused. "But your journey was well traveled?"

"Yes, we have not been stopped once. No rain. Have you packed your things? It is best that we move on directly. I've received no reply from Christophe," he explained. He looked about her room and saw no cases or bags out.

"Oh . . . Well, I've packed nothing, but it won't take long. Please, have a seat." Heinrich moved to sit in Erik's chair. "Oh, Heinrich, I've spilled water on that chair, you'll be soaked if you sit down. Please, sit here." She indicated another chair, and searched her armoire for clothing to bring. It truly had not taken long for she placed random clothes in bags without glancing at them.

"There, finished," she announced when she had finished.

Heinrich looked at the bags in her hands. "Two bags? You know we are going to Spain?"

"That is something I'm aware of, and I will manage. I wont be able to stay for very long; I have a life to live here, with responsibilities," she tried to explain. Heinrich rose from his chair, angered.

"What, are you such a great diva that you cannot go long to mourn your father's death?" He accused her. Caressa didn't understand why he had become so angry.

"Heinrich, no, I just—"

"You would rather remain here and have society fawn over you, am I correct?" He aggravated her.

"Will you let me explain myself?" She begged him, plagued with despair by her father's death and his fury.

"I had thought that you would be brighter than this. Was I wrong to think you would not become a whore of the opera house?" Caressa glared at his accusations.

"How dare you? What right have you to say such things?" She demanded, her anger as apparent as his.

"A man's coat lies in your bed!" He was right; Erik's coat lay rumpled in her bed.

"That coat is father's," she lied quickly. "What else do you base these outrageous claims on?" She spat at her brother. "I am a very honorable girl, and if nothing short of joining the sister's of the church of France will make you see that, then you are a fool!" She had been glad he was turned to her for she saw Erik was shaking the bed with his laughter.

"I have acted a fool, but you must understand my concern and position." Heinrich walked over and took her hands. "I must always protect you, and the current way I'm going about it has been poor. Forgive me," he asked, and embraced her again.

From beneath the bed, Erik found that he disliked the man already. He had chastised her for no reason and had been accusing her one moment. Then he had turned around and asked for forgiveness. Erik suddenly realized the man had acted like . . . Him.

* * *

Translation from Carmen:  
"_Near the ramparts of Seville,_  
_At the place of my friend, Lillas Pastia._  
_I will go to dance the Seguedilla_  
_And to drink Manzanilla._  
_I will go to the place of my friend, Lillas Pastia._  
_Yes, but all alone, one gets bored,_  
_And the real pleasures are for two;_  
_So, to keep me company,_  
_I will take away my lover."_


	8. The Last GoodBye

Reviews are most welcome.

* * *

**Chapter 8: The Last Good-bye**

Erik continued to watch as Caressa and Heinrich whispered quietly with their foreheads together. It made him exceedingly more curious about the man than he already had been. He longed to know what she was voicing to her brother that she would not say to him. Even when it was _he_ who had held her all night, comforted her, and then sang to her, still she kept things from him. However, he recognized that he was being foolish, for in all probability they spoke of things that would not interest him.

Still, the man was invading his opera house. Caressa was Erik's to watch over, she did not need the protection of someone who could not be there for her always. But she was going to Spain, and Erik could not go to protect her there. He thought of a solution and extended it to her brother silently, _Fine, boy, you guard her outside of my boundaries and I will do the same within my limitations_.

"Now, we must be off," Heinrich announced pulling away.

"Yes, let us go," Caressa agreed, walking him to the door. Erik heard the door close, but remained in his humiliating place under the bed.

_I hadn't even wished her well_, he thought, and then he tensed when he felt the bed sink in. Caressa's head lowered in front of him upside-down.

"Please, I must be quick, I've told Heinrich that I have forgotten something." She sighed, "I couldn't leave without telling you good-bye. Come out from under there, unless you enjoy it so."

He growled at her words and rolled out from underneath her bed. Her hand extended to him, but he stood on his own.

She waited a moment before putting her arms around his shoulders, and pulling him tightly against her. "I am sorry that I must be gone for so long. Trust in me that I will return, and be ready for whatever you wish of me next." Her chin rested on his shoulder, "Thank you, for your comfort. Your song and presence gave me more solace than I would have expected to find on such a night."

_Had she wanted me there?_ He questioned the information he had received.

"My God, I want to stay here," she admitted to him, "I'm afraid to go so far away. If I go, my father won't be waiting there. If only I could have been with him." She wiped her face on her coat sleeve. "Erik, what should I do?"

_Stay!_ He wanted to command. Instead, he placed his hand on her shoulder and whispered to her, "You must go for your father's sake. I beg you: go. There will be much regret in you if you do not." His hand traveled to her back and twisted into her hair. "Your brother is a good man, I trust you will be safe with him."

Caressa nodded her head lightly against his.

His eyes closed when her bare cheek touched is own. "If you do not go soon your brother will grow suspicious."

As he stepped back, Caressa took a deep breath. "He will, yes. Good-bye," she mumbled before walking slowly to the door. Upon opening it her eyes found Erik's, and she spoke once more, "You have been a good friend to me." She gave him a minute smile before shutting the door.

"A friend, indeed," the lonely man scoffed inside the empty room.

* * *

Caressa had underestimated how long it would take to reach Seville. On the sixth day of travel, she grew weary of the carriage ride. She had assumed she would have been used to it by then.

Her brother tried his best to keep her occupied with conversation, but she preferred sleeping the ride away. Reading hadn't been an option; it was too harsh of a ride.

Some nights when they stopped at a hotel, Caressa would wait until her brother was asleep before writing a letter. All letters were addressed to her room at the opera house. She regretted that Erik would spend at least another eight days waiting for her. Her master was often in her thoughts, and she wondered what he was doing.

_I'm being selfish; he isn't thinking of me, _she thought before lying in the bed across from her brother's. But the girl had been wrong. For as many times as she thought of him, he thought of her twice as much.

* * *

Erik laid in his coffin, with his arms behind his head, wondering where she would be, _Madrid? _He considered,_ That seems reasonable_. A letter that Caressa had sent him was lying open on his chest.

"_Dear friend,_

_I pray this finds you well. The journey to Seville continues. It seems as if an eternity has passed since we left. Riding in a carriage grows tiresome, but when I sleep in the day I lie awake late into the night. It may not be right to tell you—but when I sleep, my father is often in my dreams. I dream of him from a time when I was still very young, and I have realized that I had not seen him for five years before he died. Sometimes you are also in my dreams. Your song of comfort courses through me when I think of my father, and he is on my mind always. It is difficult not to include him in my thoughts; everything reminds me of him. That is natural, I suppose, to greatly miss your loved ones who have passed._

_With you running the opera house I trust things are continuing smoothly. The managers must be quite angry that I left so abruptly. Signora Guidecelli has no doubt been notified. I understand if you are upset with me for not being able to perform soon after opening night. I'm afraid the letters I've sent are piling up on my vanity. It is torture not being able to see your reactions to my letters, not being stationary enough for you to send a reply, and not knowing if you've received them at all._

_My brother stirs, I must go, we are nearly to Seville._

_Your faithful student and friend,_  
_Caressa_"

He finished reading it for the 10th time. _She dreams of me, she dreams of me, she believes I am upset with her, but she dreams of me. What does she dream? _The idea of her dreaming of him made him first think decidedly impure thoughts, but it was Caressa, her dreams would be clean. She was too innocent to dream of him in the manner he often dreamt of her.

All the while she was gone, he found it impossible to compose anything worth writing down. The letters were enough assurance that she was indeed safe. Still, at times he thought of her face, the softness of her hair, the way she smelled so sweet, her body's warmth, or her voice for hours. His obsession grew everyday she was gone, but he would not admit that it grew darker and more animal with each passing day as well.

He attempted to force her out of his thoughts, thinking, _I must not ruin this again. I must wait until she returns to me_. He assured himself that wouldn't make any mistakes with Caressa, but he had forgotten the strength of his powers of persuasion . . . Especially his power to persuade himself.

* * *

The day came that Heinrich and Caressa had finally reached Seville. The moment they arrived at their hotel, their moods became doubly solemn. It had been early morning when they had arrived, and the service was to be held later that day. All was silent as the two tried to get a few hours of rest.

Caressa tossed in her bed and then turned to Heinrich. He laid with his back to her. As she looked at him a silent trigger was tripped, and she began to cry. Immediately, he turned to face his sorrow-filled companion.

"Come here, Caressa," he said softly as he sat up. She did as he asked, and was slightly surprised when he pulled her onto his lap. "It feels like things will never get better, but they will." The wise, kind words reached her ears, but she was barely comforted by them.

Erik had held her, and sang to her. Heinrich held her, but he was silent.

"Caressa, will you sing for me?" He asked, she didn't know what to sing for a moment.

Once she realized what to sing, she held his head tenderly to her chest.

"_Grimly, faintly, your poor heart is breaking... Calm you, heal you- all pain away I'm taking... Find slumber now my love, I am watching from above, and know that I will always hold you tight—_

_Find the rest that you have searched for through the night_..."

Heinrich's eyes closed and he lie back down, taking Caressa with him on his chest. They rested together until the time came for their father's funeral.

* * *

The service had been beautiful. Dozens of mourners had filled the church. Everyone there had bestowed his or her sincerest condolences to Andre Bucher's children. They offered stories and recollections of all sorts to Caressa and Heinrich, and they listened dutifully to the words about Andre Bucher.

Heinrich's mother had not come, thankfully.

After the priest had finished the ceremony, a select few of those in attendance rode to the cemetery to lower the body into its final resting place.

While Caressa stood with so many others lowering her father into the ground she looked to her mother's grave.

_He was a good man despite his faults, mama. Be proud of him_, she silently told her mother in heaven, _I'll make you proud of me too._ The coffin hit the bottom of its six-foot destination. _You are not alone anymore._

Tears fell down her cheeks, not only from total despair, but also because this was the last time she would be in the presence of her father. She knew that he was gone, and there was little chance she would ever return to see his grave again.

It was the last good-bye; both her mother and father had left her.

* * *

The ride back to Paris went faster than Caressa ever would have expected. Heinrich had been less persistent in conversing with her. It was evident there was hurt in his eyes when she wouldn't respond to his attempts. When she saw what she'd done she held his head against her shoulder and sang him to sleep.

After nearly two weeks of traveling they were one hotel stop away from Paris. Caressa was elated, and flitting about the room.

"Oh, it will feel good to sleep in my own bed again," she told Heinrich while they ate dinner. "Are you looking forward to starting up the business again?"

"Yes, but it won't be the same without you. I've grown so accustomed to you being an arm's length away." He took her hand across the table. "I will miss you."

"But you can come and see my next performance at the 'Populaire.' If I still have the position, that is." Silently, she prayed to God that she had.

"Of course, I wouldn't miss it for the world." He smiled.

A maid came soon after and removed the dishes.

"So, we should go to sleep to be ready for the journey tomorrow," she suggested. She wanted to send another letter to Erik as soon as possible.

"You're right." He waited for Caressa to change and get into bed before climbing into his own.

She then waited an hour after her brother had gotten into bed, and turned to face him. He was asleep. As quietly as she could, she got out of bed, found her stationary, and lit a candle to write by.

Her hand ran feverishly across the paper, and finished the letter quickly. She blew out the candle and turned to walk to the door. A loud gasp escaped her when she hit a solid surface. _Heinrich!_

"And who are you writing to at such a late hour?" He didn't seem angry, but he hadn't seemed amused either. It was pitch black in the room, and Caressa could feel him rip the letter from her hand. He lit a lamp. "Midnight letters to a boy, I suppose," he had quipped. She sighed at her brother's playful teasing.

She rightfully began to panic as he made to open the envelope, "That is an out right offense, put it down, Heinrich!"

"Are you going to fight me?" He took the letter out and read aloud,

"_Dear friend,_

_It is my pleasure to inform you that we are a day's ride away from Paris. I shall return to you soon._

_Your faithful friend,  
__Caressa"_

"All right, I'll admit that I was wrong about the boy thing. But who is this for, and why did you feel the need to write it in the middle of the night?" He seemed very tired.

"Oh, it's for Jacqueline, and I had remembered while I was trying to sleep. I didn't want to wake you," she fibbed. Heinrich handed her the letter and she produced another envelope. It was relief he hadn't seen the address.

"You were very quiet, but I never fell asleep." Her brother held his head in his hands.

"What is it that troubles you? Tell me, and I'll sing for you." She hoped that would be enough incentive for him. He removed his face from his hands and reached out to play with a lock of her hair.

"I just can't sleep," he replied, and put his arms around her. Confusion stirred in Caressa's head. A warmth and softness were there, just as they had been with Erik. She pulled her brother as close as she could, and buried her face in his chest. "You told me you would sing," Heinrich reminded her.

"Not tonight." She wriggled away from him and got into her bed. "I am tired as well. Goodnight." The room went silent for a moment. "The letter!"

* * *

Erik sat at his organ with the blunt little letter in front of him. She was to arrive that day, and it would not be a moment too soon. The past two weeks had been completely dull. Her face had begun to fade from his mind, and he forced himself to draw it but once.

While he sat thinking of her, he lost track of himself. He decided to wait in her room, and went to change. At first glance in the mirror he knew he had neglected his appearance. All of his clothes were off quickly, and he washed himself.

When he finished he dressed in his normal attire. His second glance in the mirror confirmed that he was himself again. Not wishing to waste any more time, he made haste with the gondola, and dashed up to the mirror.

Once he'd reached the room, he stood next to the bed.

* * *

The carriage pulled to a stop outside the opera house, and Caressa burst out running for Jacqueline, who stood on the steps.

"Oh, I've missed you," they said simultaneously through their embrace.

"The house has been mad," Jacqueline reported as they rushed up the steps.

"Carlotta's singing then?" Caressa asked.

"No! I said it was mad, not plagued. There have been no performances since you left. The managers will schedule another now that you are back," Jacqueline explained frankly. "You should have seen how many men came asking for you."

"Alas, I am in no need for a man." Caressa laughed, and waved down at her brother as the carriage pulled away.

"How was the service?" Jacqueline asked as they walked inside and up the staircase.

"It broke my heart, but it was wonderful how many people came." She smiled at the thought of how many lives her father had affected.

"Your father was a good man, I extend my condolences," Madame Giry told them, as she was coming down a side staircase. "Jacqueline, could you deliver this message to one of the managers for me, please?" She held out an envelope to Jacqueline.

"Madame, we were just—"

"Caressa must be fatigued, she needs rest. You may catch up at practice tomorrow," Giry assured her. Jacqueline took the letter and went up another staircase towards the managers' office.

"It will be a relief to start practice again, Madame." Caressa smiled and tried not to look anxious.

"Wonderful. I am sorry for your loss, my dear. I have been tasked with delivering these to the principal performers. This is for you." She handed her an envelope. "I must be off, good-day."

"Good day, Madame," Caressa called after her. She had a feeling she already knew what it was, and a quick glance into the envelope confirmed her suspicion. An invitation to the masquerade had been extended to her. Heinrich had been right about things getting better. The only trial to remain was her reunion with Erik.

At the thought of her masked friend, she ungracefully darted up the staircase, and down the hall to her room. Before she unlocked the door she smoothed her skirts for a moment. Then she keyed the lock, opened the door and turned to face him.

He stood in the middle of the room, looking more like a man to her than he ever had before. It was the first time she had considered his appearance at all. The darkness surrounding him was justified by the misplaced and wild innocence in his eyes. A red rose hung limply in his gloved hand when their eyes met.

Caressa nearly knocked Erik to the ground as she ran at him and threw her arms around him, "Erik! Oh, Erik! I missed you!" Her embrace was bone crushing.

His face hid in her warm, fragrant hair. "And I have missed you, Caressa," he whispered.

"You have?" She asked, muffling the question into his neck.

"Oh course, I have no one else in the opera house to entertain me." Her laughter vibrated into his throat, and he felt himself weaken.

"Always thinking of others, aren't you?" At this quip he pulled away, and put his face so close to hers that their foreheads contacted one another slightly.

"Actually, I have thought only of you." That being said he kissed her forehead.

"Oh, but you do flatter me so," Caressa remarked and backed away, remembering her manners. She left him standing there for a moment before she returned with her carpetbag. She sat on her bed while rummaging around inside it for something.

Erik looked on in confused amusement as her eyes lit up, and she pulled a small, poorly wrapped parcel from the bag.

"Now, I believe, it is my obligation to flatter you." She held the package out to him. "A gift to you, my friend."

After a short time his hand closed around the package. He turned it around and examined it as if it would suddenly explode. Caressa grinned at his over-cautious antics.

"Be careful, things are not as they appear. The gift is quite fragile," she told him, and it was true.

Her caution caused him to cease the foolish examining. He pulled on the string holding the grubby looking paper to whatever was beneath. When he opened the small box, it was a shock that he had uncovered . . .


	9. Gifted Hands

Reviews are most welcome.

* * *

**Chapter 9: Gifted Hands**

Nothing. The small box was empty, and Erik was not amused. Caressa clearly noticed his a change in his temperament. She hastily stood before him.

"Ha! I've tricked you!" She exclaimed. His expression turned to one of confusion. "It was meant to be a joke. But if you come along with me, you shall receive my true gift."

"Perhaps now I should be wary of gifts from you," he retorted.

She held out her hand to him, and sighed, "Oh, come along then."

The two walked slowly into the hall, with Caressa a few steps ahead, leading him by the hand. "We must get to the ballet dormitories, but we cannot go back through the stage, because the younger girls are practicing. Do you have any suggestions?" She turned to see that his eyes were closed in thought.

"The flies—We could take the flies," Erik decided. Suddenly, he was ahead of her as he led them up a floor toward the catwalks above the stage. When they arrived, Caressa nearly gasped at the planks he meant for them to cross. It seemed a better plan to wait, but she did not want to delay Erik longer. Despite the previous reasoning she felt hesitant of not only the people below, but also the distance of the fall.

"We are to cross this, then?" Her speech had faltered only slightly with concern.

"You are the most graceful ballerina to dance for this opera house since its _first_ opening. You can do it, I shall aid you." His voice was low, nearly a whisper. "Come, take hold of this rope—good. Now." He held her around the waist while instructing her on how to cross. "Rest your weight with one foot on the plank in front of you. If it lowers, or sways greatly, find another board to walk on. At any time, should you be stuck, I shall assist you." His lips came into light contact with her ear, and she leaned backwards into him before he whispered, "Start moving."

She was immediately shaken from her thoughts and began to cross. While she was cautious of the planks, Erik simply sprinted across them and landed on the other side without making a sound.

Caressa found only one board that would not support her weight, but otherwise came to the opposite side safely.

"That was possibly the most terrifying thing I've ever done," she confessed to Erik as she hunched over, out of breath.

"At your service, mademoiselle. Come now, for what purpose do you need to reach the dormitories?" He questioned. She realized that he didn't understand that the gift she had sent forward from Seville was beneath Jacqueline's bed.

"My gift for you, I sent it ahead to the opera house. I've entrusted Jacqueline to take care of it," she told him as they walked in the direction of the dormitories.

"It's not living, is it?" He hated to think what he would end up doing to an animal she gave him.

"Unfortunately, no . . . Though it used to be," she teased him. Erik stopped dead in his tracks. "Don't worry, it's not an animal. It's made of wood."

"I see." They stood on a beam above Jacqueline's bed.

"It's there, beneath her bed. Do you see the box?" She looked around for the ladder, "Where is it?"

"It was removed. Too many boys were sneaking into the dormitory during the night." He pulled out his Punjab lasso, and Caressa took a stride back that he decided to ignore. He tied the rope around a board swiftly. "Climb down the rope, get the box, and leave. Just go back to your room, all right?" He instructed her.

"Of course, Erik. Be careful." Then as slowly as possible she began her descent. "Oh, wretch!" Erik had not understood why she had cursed, until she hiked up her skirts to get them out of the way. It had been the first time he'd seen that much of her flesh exposed. In the near blackness he could barely make out the long, dancer's legs, but the faint image was enough to commit them to his memory.

_She believes I've already gone, _he assumed, and he had been correct in his assumption. Caressa knew not to raise your skirts in the presence of a man. When she had nearly reached the ground he went back to her room.

* * *

Just as he had gone, she slid harshly down the rope a few feet, before finding her grip again. She cursed in pain, before hopping to the ground. She smoothed out her skirts, and grabbed the box.

The hallway was empty as she made her way back to her room, when suddenly one of the managers appeared.

"Monsieur Maugnaut, how are you today?" She inquired as she flashed him a wide smile. The box rested safely under her arm.

"Ecstatic really! It is so wonderful to have you back. We shall have a performance next week. The news of your return has spread wildly. The news of your availability also appears to have spread." He raised his eyebrows suggestively, and exclaimed, "Many suitors have sought you here at the opera house in your absence."

"Monsieur, I am in no need for a man. Would you like for me to leave your opera?" The manager shook his head vigorously. "Then I shall not wed. Besides, there are only two men in my life—" Maugnaut's eyes widened at this admission. "—My brothers," she assured him, and then began to shift her legs uncomfortably.

"Of course, I will leave you to your unpacking. I wish to extend my sincerest condolences for your loss. Good-day." Monsieur Maugnaut then danced passed her down the hall.

"Good-day, monsieur." An exhausted sigh came form her lips as she opened her door. Erik was nowhere in sight. After she had carefully set down the box, she sat in a chair, and quickly hiked her skirts up again. There were deep red stains on the white fabric of the thighs of her drawers.

"What happened!" Erik barked as he exited from the mirror. Surprised by his voice, she clamped her legs shut, and whimpered loudly in pain while pushing her skirts down.

"I skinned my thighs climbing down the rope. Oh, it's burning and stinging and aching at the same time! I hate it, I hate it!" She whined. She clenched her teeth tightly, blew out a large burst of air and closed her eyes. Unexpectedly, she felt something prying her knees apart, and her eyes flew open. "ERIK! What are you doing!" She cried out, and shoved his hands back forcefully.

"I need to examine your wounds. There happened to be quite a bit of blood. Your wounds could become infected with something, and I would need to treat, or at least, clean them." He noticed her relax somewhat as he explained himself.

She smiled nervously at him for she knew she would not win the argument. "Open your gift, and then you may examine me, agreed?"

"Agreed. You are ruthless, aren't you? Is this it?" He picked up the box next to the chair.

"Yes, it's fragile. Open it!" She ordered him eagerly. Once he'd opened the box he pulled out a leather-upholstered case. The clasps on the side stuck hard, but he forced it open.

"A violin," he simply stated, his face remaining emotionless.

It was impossible for her to tell what he was thinking.

"Do you like it?" She sensed his answer would be anything but _'Yes'_, and felt a sinking sensation in her chest.

"It's truly beautiful, however, I already own a violin. As you know." His tone made her understand that he was trying not to hurt her.

"Yes, I do know. This violin is incredibly rare, you see. It's meant to have more of an aesthetic value. Only three of Conti's violins are in existence today. On both the bridge and the back of the neck they are engraved with: 'Per il mio angel.' Which means—"

"'For my angel.'"

"Yes. This violin has been played in the homes of comtes, marquis', perhaps even kings. It deserves a place with a great virtuoso. Erik, it deserves a place with you."

He was as she said he would be—_'flattered.'_ "Where are the other two?" He wondered.

"With my brothers. My father had collected all three throughout his lifetime. He was obsessed with the story behind them. Three beautifully crafted violins, created in the spirit of a man's love for another man's wife. My father used to care for them as if they were my siblings. In his will, he left them to me. I simply couldn't bare the thought of them lying around, not being played." Erik knelt before her still, captured by her voice. "I decided to give them to the most prominent violinists in my life."

"You must not give this to me lightly. I'm not strictly a violinist," he reminded her, realizing how much her gift truly meant.

"Neither was my father. I will rephrase my statement," she told him sheepishly, "The three most . . . important men in my life." The man before her said nothing; there was nothing that would come to him. There was a young woman before him, who had explained how much he meant to her, and there he knelt, speechless for possibly the first time in his horrible life.

He knew what he wanted to tell her. He knew what he wished to do to her. He wanted to tell her: "You are always in my thoughts. Against all odds, I think my wasted old heart may beat with feelings for you." He wanted to fiercely ravish her tender lips until he'd fear they'd go raw. But he would not frighten her, not the innocent Caressa.

When her hand smoothed over his hair and cheek he closed his eyes lazily. It was the only time, which he could recall, that he longed to remove the hairpiece and the mask to have her stroke the horrors beneath softly. Followed by that lovely thought, was a sudden wave of self-disgust at wishing such a ghastly thing on Caressa.

"Let us assess these wounds, shall we?" He stopped her hand on his cheek and peeled it awayr. Her bottom lip was being gnawed between her teeth. "Caressa, because you are hurt, please lift your skirts. You'll only cause yourself further injury. Trust that I am as qualified as any physician to examine you. Even in such... uh—"

"Private areas?" She offered, hanging her head, and pulling up her skirts again.

"No, this is no good. Remove them completely," he ordered. Caressa's awkwardness and unease was filling the room.

"Very well, please loosen my gown." They stood together, and he helped her out of the gown. She tossed it over her head onto the floor, and untied her petticoat. It was slightly shocking to Erik that his timid Caressa was acting so boldly, but she must have accepted that in a few moments he would be looking between her knees. A place that none save herself and her wet nurse had ever seen.

If Caressa had admitted to her apprehension, she feared that Erik would take offense. She did not want anyone looking at her with her clothes off, especially someone whose motives were so unreadable.

"The bed would be more comfortable for this." He attempted to make her easier about the situation.

"Trust me, no it wouldn't." She resumed her seat in the chair. A hand slid between her knees and she tried to remain calm. They were spread apart, and he looked at the red stains on the drawers for a moment. He pulled them off to get a better look at the wounds, and successfully made no reaction to her bare skin.

"Ah." He nodded his head. "Just rope burn, as I had suspected," he told her, "There are always cases like this coming into the infirmary. New stage hands that don't know how to climb ropes."

"It doesn't sound so bad; the wound does look rather angry thought," she admitted.

"It's has all of the symptoms of a burn, a cut, and a rash: Simple to treat, but it does looks ghastly. The poor fools in the infirmary always end up with infections," he informed her, before he could think better of it. "I must go retrieve an ointment from my chambers. Remain here, answer the door for no one." He ran to the mirror and looked back. His Caressa sat, legs open, wearing her shift, corset, and a thin pair of undergarments, all in white. It was like a dream he had experienced a few nights prior, but it would end nothing like his fantasy. He was playing doctor, and he intended on living up to her measurement of trust in him.

* * *

As he went out through the mirror, Caressa felt more exposed than ever before. With Erik gone, anyone could burst through the door, and witness her scantily dressed. And with her legs spread wide-open, no less. It had been a relief in the manner that Erik handled the situation professionally. Though it was blatant both parties were uncomfortable, he set it aside to care for her. She wondered what he thought when examining her.

Her mind replayed over the moment her palm began to stroke his face. She could not rid herself of the image when his eyes fluttered closed, and the slight smile that had graced his lips. That true smile, not a sneer, a smirk, or a grin. A strange disappointment flooded her soul when he stopped her hand, and his face returned to one carved of stone. Another odd feeling that struck her was that she wished to remove his mask. Not out of curiosity, but because she wanted to pay attention to all of him, and show him that she was no longer afraid.

_But he does look so altered when he smiles. Perhaps I could help him to smile again_, this thought nearly startled her, but she considered it, then put the mission in the back of her mind.

It was not long before Erik returned with a small sack over his shoulder. "Ah, so Father Christmas has decided to make his rounds early this year?" She half-snorted, half-giggled at his bewildered expression. "My apologies, that was puerile."

"Not at all, but I am afraid this year all I've come prepared with are treatments to prevent deadly infection." Her face fell at his words.

"I could die from these?" She wondered aloud.

"No, of course not, we shall prevent it. I could never let that happen. You shall live to see another day." He sat in front of her, and started to pull objects from the sack: a jar, cloth strips, a bottle of some clear liquid, and a brown bottle containing a different liquid.

"What are those for?" She indicated the bottles. Though she was not generally curious, when matters involved her or anyone's health, she wanted to know what was going on.

"This—" He held up the clear bottle. "—Is to cleanse the wounds. And this—" He held up the other bottle. "—Is to dull your pain while I cleanse the wounds. It's best if you take a drink now." He handed her the brown bottle.

Paranoia waved through her. "Couldn't I just rinse them with water, and then bandage them to keep infection out?" He looked at her as if she was making a mistake during a lesson.

"The hour is late, you may retire when I've finished." As mentioned before, he said this when he grew impatient. "Now drink your whisky down."

She gave him one last pleading look before she uncorked the bottle, and took an unladylike swig.

"Oh, My God!" Her face contorted and squished up, and she started to wheeze as her lungs set fire, "Water, water! Please, Erik!" She clutched her throat in her hand, and bent over gagging. It was not at all like wine, and went down her throat like needles.

He hadn't wasted time going to her washbasin; he grabbed a glass and a pitcher before coming back over to her. Instead of taking the glass, she grasped the pitcher, and poured it down her throat.

"You should drink more whisky," he instructed.

"YOU'RE MAD . . . I will not dare put more of it inside me voluntarily!" She scolded him animatedly.

"Follow it with the water, and it will not burn so," he explained while pushing the bottle to her lips.

She glared up at him as she did as he said, despising it all the while.

It took some time for her to imbibe the remnants of the bottle. When she'd finished she handed him the pitcher and bottle, and sat back with her eyes wide, chest heaving. A single droplet of water escaped from the corner of her lips, ran across her throat, trickled down her chest until it went beneath her shift, and undoubtedly between her . . .

Erik tried to pry his eyes away before it had reached her chest, but he failed miserably.

Warmth began to fill her body and she remembered how she had been affected by wine. She felt weightlessness coming over her, and found that it was difficult to focus her eyes.

Caressa gasped when she felt Erik dabbing at her chest with a cloth.

"How could you do that?" He felt guilt run him over and pulled away. "Not that, the whisky! Why would you tell me to drink that? It tasted like distilled smoke, with old bread in it!" He prodded one of her wounds harshly, and she let out a yelp of pain. The more animated she was, the faster the influence would come to her, and unroll within her. "Why would you do that?" She closed her legs, and curled into a ball in the chair.

His hands clutched her arms and turned her to face him. The effects of the whisky had begun to take hold; she went slack, and her eyes became extremely glassy.

"Caressa, can you hear me? Can you still understand me?" He realized she must have drunk more of it in than was necessary to affect someone her size, especially for someone who had never had it before. Her head nodded gradually, and then she looked at him with wide eyes and an open mouth. It was the most she'd ever appeared like a child.

_She is a child, _he thought suddenly. Then his focus returned to Caressa. "That's good," he responded to her nod, "Now, tell me if you can feel this." He prodded one of the wounds lightly, but she remained motionless. "This?" He prodded harder, rewarded again with no reaction. "That's good, Caressa. You are not going to feel any pain for a little while." After telling her that he mumbled under his breath, "Not until you wake in the morning."

He'd had his occasional drunken ritual after Christine had left, once he had returned to his destroyed underground home. He had rebuilt it by the time the opera held its' reopening, but he had waited for a year after his return to begin. He had initially failed to move even a fallen candelabrum. For years he had wallowed in a renewed self-pity, a reformed hatred of the world and for the perfection-seeking bastards of society. He found it difficult to think of anything besides the angel who had betrayed him. He had considered taking his own life, however, he knew that though his pride was mangled, it was still kicking and screaming for life.

Those thoughts were forced from his mind, and he was thankful that Caressa couldn't notice his sudden weakness. Thinking back to the headache and nausea he'd received the mornings after his occasional drunken rituals brought on this bombardment of horrors. In his case the occasional rituals occurred daily.

He would not envy Caressa in the morning.

The cloth strips were sterile enough to use on open wounds, but he knew not to over saturate them with the ethyl alcohol. Years sneaking through the opera house had often led him to the library. It was barely ever used, though he knew to stay hidden. At this point he'd read so many books on medical occurrences, research, drugs, and operations, he believed performing brain surgery would be a simple task. Cleaning wounds was child's play.

The damp cloth touched the dried blood around her torn skin to loosen it before he wiped it away with another water-drenched cloth. A giggle escaped the inebriated girl when he had begun to cleanse the injuries.

"It tingles," she confessed in a giggling whisper, as if she'd been apologizing for talking during Mass. Her legs started to close when he kept at cleaning the wounds.

"No, no, no. It's all right, that's how it's meant to feel. I've almost finished." His unoccupied hand stroked her opposite knee. "There, now all that's left is the ointment. You won't even feel it." Quickly, albeit carefully, he administered a thin layer of a gummy material over the girl's wasted flesh.

"It tingles," she repeated, and clucked her tongue at him.

"It can't _'tingle,' _Caressa, it doesn't cause a sting or any pain when applied," he told her matter-of-factly.

"Silly Erik, I mean your hand." He had forgotten that his hand was stroking her knee. Without hesitation he removed it and commenced bandaging her thighs. He finished hastily and stood.

Everything was replaced in the sack, and he returned the pitcher to the basin. "Finished," he announced.

"Erik, it still tingles," she repeated—again.

The statement threw him. "I'm on the other side of the goddamn room!" When he turned to her she was looking at the arm of the chair, tears brimmed her eyes. "Oh, Caressa." Darkness was approaching as night crept in closer, so he lit a lamp. "Don't cry," he begged. Then he reached out to touch her cheek, but she took his hand.

"I never said you were making it feel that way—" With her hand guiding his she restored his palm to her knee. And cast her fingers over his hand, indicating he was to continue stroking. "—but I think you were, Erik." She closed her eyes, and tilted her head back. "It tingles low in my belly, and there's a warmth now. A warmth, Erik."

He tore himself away from her. The girl was incapacitated, and he wasn't going to force anything on her. She didn't know what she was feeling, and quite frankly, he didn't know either. Perhaps she needed to relieve herself, she'd taken enough water in. But from her description he suspected what it was, and that it had nothing to do with water. Though the thought of water gave him an idea.

"Caressa, come with me, I'll take you to the lavatory before you get into bed." She held her arms out, but did not look towards him. It was late enough that he doubted anyone would particularly notice a man carrying a girl with her legs wrapped around his waist. As they made their way down the hall he noticed her sniff him, then fervently nestle closer.

"You smell like a man should smell," she told him. It was clear that not only the alcohol was talking; she was beginning to become more tired. Sleep was closing in fast so he shook her before pushing her into the powder room. Several minutes passed as he stared at the wall, hearing a few couples run past him laughing.

The door creaked open, and Caressa stumbled out. "Erik?" She looked at him with slightly clearer eyes, and he noticed his name was not slurred. Even in her new level of cohesion she reached for him to steady her.

"I shall carry you back," he offered. Her arms went about his neck, and his hands held her to him. "How do you feel?" She nestled to him again, but this time unconsciously.

"So incredibly tired," she huffed. Darkness called to her as the last worldly thing before sleep filled her senses- the scent of smoke and leather.

Erik laid her out gently on the bed once they had returned. He made a mental note to never—under any circumstance—give her any kind of alcohol again. Nightmares flocked to her, but Erik whispered words of comfort in her ears. Only when the night terrors ended did he leave to sit in his chair by the door.

His mind frantically recalled the night's events. Caress'a return, the gift, her burn, the alcohol and the effects of inebriation. _Her skin . . ._ The thought came from nowhere _. . .Like the finest silk. Her bare legs, supple, white porcelain legs. Her heaving, rounded br— _He slammed his head backward to strike the images from his mind. At this point he nearly thanked Caressa's God that he had not imbibed or consumed anything unwholesome that day.

Though he considered himself a gentleman, he also knew any gentleman could do a rather foolish act when deeply intoxicated and in the same room with an unconscious, beautiful, half-naked woman. Her body was so open to him, young, healthy and perfect.

His eyes raked over Caressa in her bed, the covers pulled high around her throat. A smile played on her mouth, and caused her face to look happy as she slept.

"I shall see you in the morning, little one. I apologize for the pain you shall experience." He then leaned over to place a chaste kiss upon her cheek.

* * *

He had retired to his chamber beneath the opera for the remaining hours of the night. Upon arrival he had attempted to sleep, but after a risqué dream involving the day's events, his attempts were abandoned. A new composition was also forgotten, as it aroused too many obscene images for him to comprehend, all of the images had to do with his unconscious Caressa.

As Erik sat awake, he felt his affliction grow stronger inside of him. It was as if a fever had gripped him, causing his skin to warm, and his head to stream with pain. He tried to force his unclean thoughts away from the sleeping child in the opera house, but his sickness clung to her. His mind was beginning to run away with him.

Any other activity was welcome. So with closed eyes, he allowed his feet carry him. His boots tread over the rug beneath his desk, and he reached forward blindly toward any of the drawers. However, his Hellish mind knew precisely what it was searching for.

Erik's hand found it, and the Phantom within forced him to open his eyes.

The ring—Christine's ring. Hatred consumed him in an instant. It was always the ring that he searched for when he let his mind and body wander. That severed part of him was trying to drive his shredded pieces of sanity mad. He hated and loved Christine. But he only had hatred for himself. The ring was a symbol of his cursed memories of Christine Daae.

Each time he sought it out, he threw it into the lake. He followed this pattern by hurling it into the water in anger, watching the splash and surface disturbance subconsciously. He sat at his desk and rifled through some useless papers, waiting anxiously for the inevitable.

"Erik?" Christine's voice called from behind him.

"Leave me be. You don't exist," he told the voice without turning around. "You're my sick mind's creation, go!"

"Erik," she called his name mournfully and laid a hand on his shoulder.

"You don't know that name. I never told you, you couldn't know," he told them both. He tried to convince himself that she was but a specter, though he could not make her disappear.

"Oh, but I have seen you. When you are with that girl. She's a pretty thing, she's more graceful than I ever was, and she has such a beautiful voice," Christine admitted this to him, and he tried not to fight her. The hallucination was already confusing him. "That's why you love her more than me. She's a better version of me."

"No, I despise her. If that is what you wish, Christine. She is nothing to me but a mewling child. I care only for you," he assured her as adamantly as he could. He rose, and took her arms.

"Then why have you disposed of my ring? If you truly loved me, you would retrieve it for me." Christine bit her lip and pointed toward the water.

"I would do anything to prove my love for you." He waded into the icy water towards the place it had made contact with the surface. Once he'd found the approximate place of landing, he dove under, and searched the blackness for the smallest hint of light. The ring caught the flame from a candelabrum, and was in his fist quickly.

Christine stood waiting by his desk when he crawled from the lake, shaking. He made it to her feet and stopped. She sat on his desk, and held out her hand in anticipation.

"Christine, I love you," he whispered as he dropped the ring in her hand, but he heard it fall into the drawer.

"Yes, but who could ever love such an ugly beast?" Her voice taunted in a hiss. She was gone when he opened his eyes.

For a moment despair rendered him silent. Then an agony filled outcry shook the very foundation of the opera, and echoed around him for minutes. The cry was his angel's name. "Oh, Christine," he whispered when the echoes ceased. He allowed himself to collapse next to his desk. And there he lie, sopping wet, mask-less, pitiful, insane, and unloved.

And for a moment he thought his curse would end.


	10. Hostility

Reviews are most welcome.

* * *

**Chapter 10: Hostility**

Erik finally gained consciousness with the help of a rat chewing viciously at his boot. He realized that Caressa would be off to practice already. He waited underground for the time when their singing lesson was to begin. She would not remember anything that happened before she returned from the powder room, if she remembered anything at all.

Any person would act like a common fool while under the influence of too much whisky_. If _she remembered what had happened, she would never have forgiven herself. For the things she had said, and the way she had behaved.

However Erik looked back on what had occurred, and a grin crossed his face at the girl's absurdity. Then an image of her head lolling back in pleasure flashed through his mind.

_'You were the cause of that pleasure,'_ a voice in his head told him.

"No, I gave her an alcohol that enhanced some of her feelings," he reasoned aloud with the voice.

_'Even so, she must have felt an inkling of pleasure so that it could as you said,_ "enhance."_'_ The voice cackled after its triumph over Erik in that battle of words.

"If I had given her any pleasure, it shall never happen again. It was a terrible sin to commit against an influenced . . ." His speech stilled on the last word. " . . . Child." The thought of it disgusted him. _But she is a young woman, no child._

_'Why did you say_ "child," _then? Recall what you said, you sounded like a perverted priest,'_ the voice mocked him while laughing.

"'A perverted priest?' Why do you burden me with such madness?" Anger was rising within him.

_'For you are mad, but if you insist. I shall take my leave of you. Good-day, Perverted Priest.'_ And Erik heard no more of the voice.

After he noticed he was still lying on the floor, he got to his feet, and made his way to a mirror. The night had left him looking worse than usual. His face appeared more hideous, with the unafflicted side of his face nearly as sunken as the other, though it was sunken with weariness and not a grotesque distortion. He washed his face carefully; wet his unruly hair before retrieving his mask from next to the organ; and then expertly arranged his hairpiece on his head. The reflection he saw then was not as disappointing as he'd expected, however, he knew his mask would not conceal his exhaustion.

He grabbed his cloak off of an extinguished candelabrum, and climbed into the gondola. Once he'd reached the other side, he made the decision to oversee the ballet practices instead of waiting with only his disturbed mind for company.

Caressa's grace and elegance amazed him when he watched her dance; there was not a single clumsy movement from her. It was as if an angel controlled her, and a demon was trying to possess her all at once. The angel forced her to be modest with her movements, when he could see that a darker side of her would dance in a sensual frenzy if it were released. Neither of these options for entertainment was left to Erik, since Caressa was not in attendance. A wave of betrayal came over him; she was supposed to be there.

He stealthily took a passage that led behind her mirror—In the event that he should discover her with someone. _If it is a boy, I will string him up_, he thought ruefully.

* * *

When he arrived, she was still abed. All that he could see was her hair, and a raise in the blankets, but she was still in bed. He sighed in relief.

Then a rapping came on the door, followed by a wary voice, "Caressa! Caressa, Madame was worried, she sent me to fetch you! Are you sleeping!" It was the slight, blonde girl who had interrupted their first encounter. Even as the girl announced her presence, Caressa remained still. The door opened, and the girl inched her way toward the bed. When she sat down, Erik lost sight of Caressa.

"Damn, girl," he mumbled at the object in his field of vision.

"Caressa?" He saw the girl—_Jacqueline_, he recalled—He saw Jacqueline nudge her in the chest, but she remained still, just as before. "Caressa?" Jacqueline grabbed her shoulders and jerked her upward violently—Still, there was no movement. Jacqueline put her hand over Caressa's mouth, then sobbed and scampered from the room.

Erik all but broke through the glass to reach her. Her lips were pale, and her skin was cooler than ever before. He placed his head over the right side of her chest, but he heard no beat. She was dead. For a brief moment he held her limp, lifeless body to him—

"ERIK!" He dropped Caressa back to the bed at the sound of his name. "Step away from her this instant!" Madame Giry ordered in a tone not even he willed to disobey. Giry ran to the bed, and placed her head on the girl's chest. "It's faint," she spoke quietly.

"What are you going on about; she's dead. Her heart has stopped, she's gone." He was sitting in his chair by the door, watching the ballet mistress examine his dear, deceased Caressa. He pounded his fist against the wall.

"You have to know how to listen to a child," she explained cryptically as she pulled back the blankets. "Each one is unique." She raised an eyebrow when she saw the corset still on the girl's body. "Did she wear this all night?" She inquired while rolling the girl over, and quickly undoing the laces.

No answer came from Erik as he realized what had happened. Caressa did have moments where she needed to rest for a time, and collect air into her lungs. She had always assured him it wasn't any form of consumption.

"Of course." She pulled the contraption over Caressa's head, and turned her onto her back. The man in his red velvet armchair gave no aid to what he considered a useless endeavor. His stupidity had killed her and he felt himself sicken. He was almost shocked into action when Giry opened he girl's mouth, and inserted a finger deep enough to reach the back of her throat.

Caressa began gagging uncontrollably, and he was overcome with joy and disbelief. Giry pushed her into a sitting position, and the coughing ceased. Soon after, she fell back into a light slumber.

"No one is meant to wear a corset overnight. You know this," Giry scolded him. "You must know she's asthmatic. This girl has trouble breathing without that torturous invention. She nearly d—"

"It would be best to hold your tongue woman!" He had _nearly_ lost one of his main reasons for living, and she was scolding him! The woman adjusted the covers over Caressa, and there was a short silence.

"I have known you to be a great many things, but this has gone too far. Even for you," she told him, she had tears in her voice, and would not look at him.

"Madame, it was a foolish mistake. Did you witness me smothering her with a pillow? No, you did not." It was, in a way, morbidly funny, but not to the Madame.

"Perhaps you should have." There was no time for Erik to be appalled by her reply; his hand was already clenching her throat.

"Say that again?" He bared his teeth at the tiny woman.

"Perhaps if you had, she wouldn't have to live in shame. Did you honestly believe I wouldn't take notice?" She accused. Nothing she had been saying made any sense to him.

"What the Hell are you rambling about!" He shouted.

"The dried blood on the inside of her thighs, that's what! You loathsome bastard, she's only a child! You're disgusting, you horrible bastard! She's a child. A—an in—innocent ch—child!" Tears were soaking the woman's face, and Erik was beginning to feel pity for her so he allowed her to drop to the ground. What she had insinuated made him laugh insanely inside. The very idea was lunacy. Yet she believed it, perhaps she hadn't known him anymore. "You became a murderer the day I met you. I never wanted to believe you've become a rapist."

The moment she spoke that word he went silent. Suddenly, Giry feared what he may do as he walked towards the bed.

"My dear Antoinette—" He stripped back Caressa's blankets, and lifted her right leg, exposing the thigh to the Madame. "—Go ahead, and call for a physician to search for signs of penetration where I have stretched and violated, and gored her fragile little body. Simply know that shall shame her more than anything: you believing she and I have performed such an act." He started removing the bandage from her thigh. "All he'll find is this dreadful rope burn as the wound producing the blood."

Madame Giry was utterly speechless.

"I'd hoped you thought better of me," he spat, while lowering Caressa's leg. "You believe I would harm her in such a way?" His hand ran through her hair as he sat next to the sleeping girl.

"I apologize for my horrid accusation, but you must understand the position you have placed me in." Giry crawled into a chair near the headboard of the bed. "Though, I confess that I do believe you will harm her again." Erik glared at her, before continuing the stroking of Caressa's hair. "I saw the marks on the back of her neck a month ago. What did she do to deserve them?"

"It only happened once, never since. She had disobeyed me. But now she is—she feels safe with me . . ." He attempted to explain.

"It only needs to happen once, Erik. She'll always have that memory of you now. She may tell you she feels safe with you, but she will remember all of the pain you caused every time she looks in your eyes," the Madame warned him.

"Erik?" Caressa whimpered as her eyes cracked open.

"Yes, I'm here," he assured her. She sat up, and hooked her arms around his shoulders. While facing the Madame he flashed her his most demonic grin as he held the willing girl in his arms.

"I've got to go to ballet practice," she informed him in distress.

"You've overslept, practice is over." Erik stared at Giry as he spoke, warning her to tell the same story.

"I'm so horrible, sleeping in all the time. But our lesson is not cancelled?" She asked hopefully.

Erik mouthed the word 'our' before answering, "I will not tolerate your insolence as Madame Giry has. The lesson is on as scheduled." He allowed her laughter to pass. "And we shall begin the moment the Madame takes her leave."

Caressa pulled away, and scanned the room, finding Madame Giry not far behind her head. Her face tinted deep red at the notion that her teacher had seen her scantily clad, embracing a _man_ devoid of relativity to her. It was against everything she'd been taught, and the blush on her cheeks meant she knew it.

At the sight of her rosy skin, Erik heard himself sigh.

"Try not to sleep in again, Mademoiselle Bucher. I'll leave you two to your . . . lesson." Giry stood in slight defeat, and left the room.

When the door closed Caressa's mouth shot open, "Did you hear that? How she said it? What must she think of that embrace? Have we given her a wrong impression? A terribly wro—"

Fingers on her lips impaired her ability to form words. "Shhh. Caressa, do you remember the bruises on your neck?" She nodded slowly, turning her eyes from him. "How you received them?" Again, she nodded, lowering her head. "Did anyone that wasn't a ballet mistress see them?" She remained silent, then nodded once more. "Whom did you show them to?"

"It was an accident. Jacqueline was trying to put my hair up and she saw. She promised not to tell anyone, and I didn't tell her how they got there." The outside of is hand gazed over her cheek. "But I remember a rumour. A younger ballet girl was lost, walked by the room, and thought she heard a man yell, _'I'll teach you not to disobey me! Go sit on the bed!'_ Then she heard me scream."

He understood what it must have sounded like, and cringed when he recalled her scream. "Rumours come and go as an hour does. It was foolish to uncover such a matter. Let us not speak of it again." For a second, he looked away towards the fireplace.

_'What warmth could a fire give her, when you could set her senses ablaze with primal abandon?'_ The voice had returned.

"Not now!" He spoke the words forcefully.

"Pardon?" Caressa was startled by his sharply spoken reply.

"We cannot have our lesson. It is Friday. You must meet with the seamstress." He tried to rush her out before the voice or his own body betrayed him. He pushed her behind a screen to change into her leotard. Erik couldn't force himself away from her silhouette, as he knew she stood just beyond the screen—Naked as the day she was born, on the day she nearly died.

"I swear to you: One day, we shall have a lesson uninterrupted. It vexes you to have to postpone after I've been gone so long; I have seen it," Caressa promised Erik as she pulled the straps over her shoulders. "How do I look?"

The straps on the leotard dug into her skin, and the neck rose high on her chest.

"It would seem that you in fact are in need of a larger garment." He didn't quite understand why the seamstress had required her to wear the old outfit, but he wasn't about to wonder too deeply. "I will be in my chambers. If you are in need of my aid . . . You only must whisper my name. I shall always hear you."

She smiled in appreciation as they went their separate ways.

* * *

Caressa headed toward her errand with the seamstress. The head seamstress was a wonderful woman: she was kind, but blunt, and she took care to make friends with everyone she possibly could. It was even true that she was on quite good terms with la Carlotta. Since she was the only costume designer who knew Carlotta's every curve, her favourite fabrics, and how to keep her temper at bay. Though the seamstress only toyed with the "friendship" to keep her head. When Caressa was appointed with the role of Carmen, the seamstress was thrilled.

After Caressa had arrived in one of the fitting rooms, the seamstress was immediately chatty. "Oh, Caressa, have I told you how much I enjoyed working with your costumes? You are much more shapely than Carlotta. I adore a new body!"

"Thank you, Anna. Who else could I entrust but you?"

Erik walked the rafters as a shadow above them, and intended to avert his gaze if the girl were to disrobe.

"I understand how uncomfortable it is for you to have me gathering measurements. Madame Giry told me about . . . Your condition. So I shall attempt to get this done quickly and accurately," Anna told her.

Caressa was relieved that Anna understood her nervousness, but was mortified by the way she had referred to . . . "Her condition."

Anna unwrapped her tape measure from about her neck. "Let's begin." As she started taking measurements, the matter was becoming uncomfortably silent. "I'm sorry to hear about your father, dear. How is that brother of yours? Holding up well?" Anna inquired.

"He's surprisingly well, seeing as he was quite close with my father. Even though they weren't father and son," she said this as if she were stating a fact.

"Fine example of a man if you ask me: Tall, dark, handsome, and free as a bird. Shame he's not started a family." Talk of her brother in this manner irked her.

"Oh, I'm sure he will, he's just searching for the right woman. You know, a good one." She had heard Heinrich repeat this hundreds of times to his mother, _'The right woman.'_

"You, girl. When will you be off looking for the right someone? I know from experience you should start looking while you're still young and . . . Energetic about love."

Caressa understood that she should be securing escorts and men's cards, and handing out gloves. But the caring seamstress knew nothing of her master. "You are not so much older than me, Anna, and you yourself are unwed. However, yes, I am young, and I still have some time. Besides, perhaps I should cease growing before I secure a suitor. At least that way he may be taller than I am. Soon I'll be quite taller than any man; then who should want me; who should want a gangly horse as their wife. No one—that's who."

"There, all finished. Oh, Caressa, you've most likely reached your full height. Who should want you? —Anyone with a pair of eyes. You are so comely. A girl with your figure ought naught worry about your height . . . you've got other concerns," Anna coughed and sat down on a stool she had brought.

"What? What do you mean by that?" Caressa demanded.

"I shouldn't have said anything." Anna looked into the younger girl's eyes, and realized she wasn't offended . . . Just clueless. "You've no idea what I mean? Madame Giry explained your body's changes to you, didn't she?"

"Of course! I know about them so why should I worry, I'm fine. I'm just _'growing up'_." She was taken aback by the forwardness of her friend.

"Well, I can assure you you're not any taller. Your bust line has increased considerably, though. It very well may be your diet, but it's normal for girls your age to develop larger breasts," The older woman said in quite a laughing manner.

"ANNA!" She shrieked, appalled by the indecency.

"Calm yourself, child. But I'm going to give you the same warning I give all of the other girls: Keep close to the other ballet rats. Most stage hands are hired off the street; grabby hands. And not just stage hands, all men can be set off by budding, young girls. They'll assume you're easy because you're an actress. Try to be careful. I'm telling you, all men."

"_'All men'_?" Caressa repeated.

They were both silent for a moment. "I must be off to start your new outfit. Don't fret; I'll remember to raise the neckline, dear. Good-day," Anna assured as she gathered her things.

"Good-day, Anna. Thank you." Then the seamstress left her alone.

"Caressa . . ." She twirled at the haunting whisper of her name. Erik turned as well, it came from a rack of costumes.

The girl wasted no time going to the door, but before she could get through a body pinned her to the ground.

"Jacqueline, you cow! Get _OFF!_" She huffed, before tossing the other ballerina off of her.

"What a way to watch yourself. Apparently, you've got to keep close to me anyway. Can't see what help I'd be though. Some depraved deviant comes 'round, I'm just going to throw you at him and start running the other way as fast I can." Jacqueline giggled while groping playfully at Caressa.

"How compassionate of you. I've only just learned I'm in danger from _'all men.'_ Give me some time." She rolled her eyes and held her hands up in a defensive position.

"Is that other words for, _'my chest is growing rather large, and everyone knows that's all that men are looking for. Which is all well and fine because everyone loves me!'_?" She threw her hands up in mock splendor and continued. "Because your chest has been growing. In fact . . . We were just discussing it in the dormitory the other night!" Jacqueline's words sickened her.

"You must promise never to speak of me in such ways," Caressed begged and grabbed her hands. "Please?"

"I promise. I was only fibbing; we never discuss your chest. But there were other things the girls were discussing. For example, there had been so many rumours about why you'd left. Some said you were found dead in a river; or you were carrying a manager's bastard; others said you took your own life under the pressure of being the lead; even one circulated that you'd been swept-away by an American, and that you were to be married. Actually, Reinette and I started the one about the American, you know, 'cause there were so many horrible rumours. Very few knew the truth." Jacqueline chuckled at the idiocy of the tales. "Oh, but my favourite one, you must hear this, is that you were kidnapped by the Opera Ghost. Can you believe that? When we— I mean, when Reinette thought the Phantom was after you. It was so ironic."

"Coincidental, not _'ironic,'_" Caressa corrected.

"Yes, yes, whatever. I must admit, that was wicked how you tricked us. You almost had me believing the Opera Ghost was sending you those notes. And the make-up on your neck was brilliant." Caressa had told Jacqueline that all of the notes, bruises, or anything else concerning the Phantom were all pranks that she set up to spook her and Reinette. It had worked like a charm. "I nearly forgot. Old Giry told me not to tell you, but who listens to her anymore? This morning you stopped breathing, like you used to when we were little. I found you; you were still in your bed. You'd had your corset on the whole night."

Caressa was saddened, knowing Erik had lied to her, but tried not to let it show. "What do you say we forget this depressing banter, and try on some costumes?" She snatched a dress off of a rack and held it to Jacqueline. "My dear, Comtesse, you would look so lovely in this gown. Care to see the fit?"

They laughed, knowing full well it would not fit, because it was designed for la Carlotta. Then she pulled it over her head anyway.

"My dear, you look ravishing." Disappearing into the rows of racks, Caressa emerged dressed as a man. She pulled her hair back, and tucked it into her shirt. "You have committed a terrible crime against me, fair Comtesse," exclaimed Caressa's character, in her manliest voice.

"What crime is that?" Jacqueline batted her eyelashes.

"You have captured my very soul with your unspeakable beauty. Dance with me, you graceful cad!" She grabbed the other girl's hand and waist. "I lead, you follow." Jacqueline planted a kiss on the other girl's lips and they were lost in laughter, while counting their steps.

The shadow in the rafters had nearly hanged Jacqueline right there as she mentioned Caressa's brush with death. He had not missed her pained expression. And yet, when they started to play, he was more entertained than he had been in a very long time. The man she pretended to be was _'Andre,'_ and the Spanish Comtesse she named_ 'Carolina.'_

"One day, my dear, I shall write an opera for us." Caressa extended her arm into the air, with what she considered a Spanish flourish. "You shall play yourself, however I shall have to find someone else to play me whilst I'm away in India, searching for the long lost pygmy colonies." The girls launched into a new set of giggles.

"Perhaps I might assist you?" A new voice came from the door.

"Oh, Matteo, not a moment too soon. Come, you shall audition. Here, dance with my dear, Carolina." The boy took Caressa's place and danced with Jacqueline for a moment. "Brava, brava. I believe you know me better than I know myself. Come, we must alter character to accommodate the new member of our opera." Each split up, and took a different row. "Matteo! Only wear men's clothing. Otherwise it shall be quite disturbing," Caressa ordered.

"Will do, chairman," he called.

Erik noticed the exuberance Caressa displayed around her friends. She was almost wild, not at all the innocent flower he was used to.

"Oh, you know what? I've forgotten that Madame Giry needed help chaperoning the younger rats today! I must be going! Have fun you two, don't do anything I wouldn't do!" Jacqueline called, before slamming the door shut.

"Well, I guess that leaves our possibilities wide open! What's your opera about?" Matteo asked from a few rows over.

"Tragedy and comedy. Romance goes without saying." She slipped a black silk gown over her head. "As we've shifted characters I am no longer _'Andre,'_ the drunken—yet kindly—heartbroken pickpocket, I am _'Elena,'_ the easily enticed, undertaker's daughter. And you are now _'Marcos,'_ a most handsome and fine swordsman from Spain."

"_'Easily enticed'?_" Matteo wondered about her meaning.

"She's hopelessly naive. Trusts anyone. Does as she's told. And that is how Marcos convinces her to deliver six bottles of the vintner's finest wine late at night." The two almost collided as they reached the end of their rows. "And he then gets her to dance with him. He tells her _'Just one,'_ but they dance through three songs." Matteo offered his arm, and they began dancing slowly.

"What happens next?" He asked, laying his head close to her ear. He noticed she was taller than him, but only by a finger's width.

"He begs her to drink a glass with him, before she goes, as a thank you for coming so late. She obliges, as he knew she would, and drinks well over a few. Once she is successfully under the wine's spell, Marcos seduces her. And she can do _nothing_, but fall to his will."

The boy brought her closer to him. "Does he tell her she's beautiful?" Caressa nodded. "_'You're so very beautiful. No one holds a flame to your loveliness. I think of you night and day, no matter what I am doing. For so long now, I have wanted to hold you.'_ Would he tell her things like that, Caressa?" The girl nodded again, slower this time. "Well, he sounds like an insincere bastard."

They erupted with laughter. "That was a wonderful performance." The act was over, and they stopped dancing.

"Caressa, I've been wondering where were you? You were gone nearly a month, with no word. There had been the most horrible rumours. None of which I let myself believe. I especially knew you hadn't run off with some filthy American. So, what happened? Where did you go?" He wondered.

"My father passed away. And I went to Spain for the funeral," she explained.

Matteo looked remorsefully into her eyes. His eyes were an amber that seemed to change colour with his every movement, and they were filled with concern. "I don't know what to say now that I've made a great fool of myself."

"You don't need to say anything, I've heard enough,_ 'my condolences,' _already. I suppose people forget that reminding you of what happened hurts like you're being stabbed," she admitted.

"Ah, I know what to do. When you describe it like that I know some of what you feel. My parents were robbed and murdered when I was 13." The girl in front of him gasped at the casualty with which he said such a terrible thing. "In time, you learn that it is in the past, and it will no longer consume you. But for now, you are right to feel hurt. Through the whole ordeal afterwards, people kept telling me I had to be a man, I had to be strong. When all I wanted was for—"

"—Someone to hold you," she finished for him.

"Precisely. I know what would've helped me. Will it help you?" He offered.

"I suppose there's only one way to find out." As a sign of her consent Matteo wrapped his arms around her to hold her close. His companion followed suit. Caressa silently admitted that not only did it help, but also it made her feel much happier.

Erik was going to kill him. There was no question, he was plotting it from the moment he was alone with Caressa—_his_ Caressa. He was touching, dancing with, holding _his_ Caressa.

"I must confess that I've not come to you with the hopes of being cast in your opera," Matteo told her this as he pulled away and looked at her again. She stifled a giggle, and tried to keep a straight face as his black hair, that he attempted to slick back, brushed against her forehead.

"Oh, if my opera so horrible," she said sarcastically before opening the door and walking to the stage.

"You see, Monsieur Maugnaut ordered me to inform you that _'a visitor awaits in your room.'_ That's all he would say. He ordered me to return to tell him that I told you the message. So, I'd best hurry or I'll lose my employment." The boy waved and ran off.

_You'll lose more than your employment if I catch you with her again,_ Erik thought as he looked onto the lonely Caressa. He wanted was to go to her, take her into her arms, and assure her that no boy could give her what he would. The only thing she had to do was call his name. For a minute she had thought about it too. In the end, she'd tread silently off of the stage, and out of his sight.

* * *

It had taken longer than he had anticipated to reach the passageway that led behind Caressa's mirror. The room was dark on the other side of the glass. There was a quiet crash near the mirror, and he could see a shape walking passed. With as much stealth as he possessed, he slid open the mirror. He took a forceful hold on the unsuspecting shape, and threw it to the ground. He was upon it quickly, pinning it to the floor from a straddling position. The shape was putting up an admirable struggle, however, was too weak to defend itself.

Suddenly, a dim light was cast upon the face of Caressa—she was lying, straddled beneath him. Her horrified gaze was turned not at him, but towards the door. A wide-eyed, young boy stood silently there, holding a lamp. All of them were plunged into darkness as he dropped the lamp in surprise.

Erik released the girl, got to his feet, and reached down to assist her. In a moment of blind weakness, he felt something shove him roughly, and he fell to his back. The lamp was rekindled, displaying his attacker, the boy, brandishing a candlestick at him. Caressa rushed forward to stop the boy's swing.

"Christophe! Please, stop!" She pleaded with him, and the boy let the candlestick fall to the ground.

"Caressa, I apologize. It was dark, and I believed you were in danger," Erik explained himself, truthfully.

"No, it's quite all right. We were just having some lamp troubles. Here let me help you." She bent down, and put an arm around his waist to aid him. The girl noticed Erik and her brother exchanging evaluations. Her younger brother gave her a confused glance. "Christophe, this is my vocal tutor . . . Master Erik. Is there anything you should wish to express to him?" The boy bowed his head, but did not remove his eyes from Erik's.

The boy refused to say a word to him.

"Thank you, for admitting you've done wrong," she praised the boy. And whispered to Erik, "I'll explain later." After she'd taken a step back she kindly commanded her brother, "Christophe, though Erik is not being a gentleman, I trust you to be." Erik was slightly stunned.

_The bastardly brat attacks me, and I'm no gentleman? _He scoffed, and the boy held out his hand to be shaken. Only moments before the child wore a scowl, but as Erik looked at him it was replaced by a cherub's smile. It was indeed a genuine smile. The boy had a firm grip for one so young. "An honour to make your acquaintance, Christophe."

Christophe nodded his head, and smiled wider.

"Erik, Christophe will be staying with me here, until Heinrich arrives back from business in London. All they want are Parisians goods I'll have you know." She motioned for him to have a seat, and sat across from him.

"You are in luck then. He is quite the protector." In response to Erik's compliment, the boy sat on the arm of Caressa's chair.

"Protective, however incredibly . . ." She narrowed her eyes at the boy, and wrenched him into her lap. " . . . Ticklish!" The childish play unnerved Erik; at times Caressa acted as a child should, but other times she had a meek sensuality about her that he assumed she was aware of. Her brother was gasping for breath as she assaulted him with her fingers, and he attempted to shove them away.

When Caressa looked at Erik, and stopped torturing her poor brother, he hadn't noticed. His attention was on Christophe. The child was 13 or 14, a reasonably good-looking boy, yet something was off-putting about him. Even as he watched, the boy calmed, and slid onto the floor. It had taken just a moment for Erik to realize he was asleep. After Caressa also realized this, they combined efforts to move him onto the bed.

She was watching Erik watch Christophe as they returned to their chairs, and wondered precisely what he was thinking.

"He is a fortunate boy. To be loved so," he had said suddenly, not looking away from him.

"I can't imagine being turned away by my own mother." Erik could not believe the audacity of the statement. "That vile woman just sent him to Paris with an address for Heinrich's shop, no escort. Heinrich disappointed me. He sent him to the opera house with a letter, and the best of luck. Well, at least he gave him a guide." She stood once again to kiss the boy's head. "Oh God, I despise her. I hate her," Caressa seethed about Christophe's mother.

The man across from her smiled warmly, she could hate. It wasn't only words; hate was in her eyes, and in her voice. "He's quiet," he remarked.

Caressa heaved a sigh. "He's not _'quiet,'_ Erik. He's mute."


	11. Descent

Reviews are most welcome.

* * *

**Chapter 11: Descent**

"Oh . . ." Erik choked out after hearing of the boy's malady. "He looks so . . ."

"He is the equivalent of any average boy in every area that is of significance," Caressa explained mechanically with a slight scolding air. "His inability to express himself verbally does not impair his normality." The same speech had gone through her head dozens of times when she saw the shocked or pitying looks on people's faces when they became aware that her brother could not speak. Though this had been the first time she had recited it.

"I meant no offense. It's a bit . . ."

"Shocking?" She finished, and then grinned at the fact that someone who believed himself to be as flawed as Erik, would be unsettled by a small, mute boy. "Haven't you been around the world? Seen the great horrors of human existence? And a mere boy shocks you?"

"What happened to him?" Erik inquired, ignoring her defensive remarks. Caressa's stepmother clearly got her blood up.

"I'm afraid I don't take your meaning." She was confused by his sudden question.

"Something must have happened to him to have rendered him speechless. His throat does not appear ailed." He surveyed the boy again, and he seemed quite unblemished.

Caressa ignored him, walked to Christophe's bag and stashed it in her wardrobe. When she turned around, Erik was nowhere to be found. "Where—"

"Caressa . . ." She spun towards the mirror where she believed his voice had called to her. The mirror was open so that only a sliver of the hall behind was illuminated. He meant for her to follow him to places she dare not go, even if he ordered her to. All she could do was stand there while her mind returned to the day he had first assisted with her corset.

It had been the day he had run his hands down her back and arms; the day he had sunk his hands deep into her hair; the day he had pulled her to his chest, and held her snugly to him. It had also been the day that the Phantom had bruised her pale, fragile neck, and bashed her into the wall. Caressa's eyes darted anxiously to the wall she had struck. Since the brick was plastered over for a textured design, her handprints and indentations from her upper chest were marked permanently there from the force of impact.

Her father's death had caused a sudden desire for virtue within her, that she believed he would have wanted from her. This appeared to be a poor beginning to a new philosophy. For whatever reason, she began hearing the voices of Madame Giry, Anna, and her brother. She heard Madame Giry's warnings about the Phantom himself, and Anna's warnings of men in general. Then she recalled Heinrich speaking of how she was growing into a beautiful young woman, and that any boy or man who asked for her body before marriage would never deserve her.

Although she understood that giving your body only after marriage was part of staying pure, she had only a general idea of what "Giving your body," meant. _S_he had never even been kissed.

Erik had clearly confirmed that he wanted everything from her. Surely he would take her body as he had taken her voice, her freedom, and most of her mind.

_How could I have forgotten these things? _She questioned herself. _I called him my dear friend. Had he thought that an invitation? I had forgotten he stole my very life from me; he hurt me, and raised in me a deep fear. And I called him my dear friend._

With her overblown, mind-stopping worry drowning out every other possibility as to why he'd left the mirror open for her . . . She froze. Anyone to walk into the room at the moment would have thought her a life-size doll; complete with the black gown she'd forgotten to remove in the costume room. Still as a statue, she realized that was precisely what she was. If you toss a doll about enough it will crack and break. Caressa knew that she couldn't be alone with him, down in his home, his domain without shattering like the porcelain doll she was. Her lungs would close; her heart would stop, because her anxiety would reach its peak.

The nerves she'd built up to become comfortable around Erik were ripped down violently, and she didn't bother wondering why. The realization that the walls were gone had consumed her; she steadied herself, tried not to cry, and struggled to breath.

So suddenly, the Erik that she had trusted, and loved as a friend, was gone, replaced by the Phantom. The Phantom who had killed, thieved, destroyed, and kidnapped was waiting for her to come to him. Virtuous indeed. If she did not go, what would he do?

"Oh, Lord." She glanced at her younger brother. Would he harm a boy? That wasn't chance she would take. Christophe's arrival had only aggravated her paranoia.

* * *

All the while Erik watched her go through her epiphany not knowing she was having a revelation on the monstrous things he'd done. He thought she looked ill as she swayed, and grabbed hold of the chair in front of her. Though he didn't understand what was taking her so unnecessarily long; he knew she had seen the open mirror. After a fearful glance at her brother she started toward him slowly. As she walked through the opening, he stepped back into the darkness to allow her passage beyond. Once they were both inside the light-less corridor, she left the mirror slightly open just as he had.

"Caressa, close it." He was still encased in complete shadow, while a dim light was shed upon her, even after she followed the order.

Caressa did as he instructed. She did not need to face him to know he was there. A wave of nervous energy erupted as she felt smooth, warm leather glide across her shoulders.

"This is not one of your gowns," he reminded her, and her stomach tensed.

"I was having a game with Jacqueline after my fitting," she explained monotonously.

"What game were you playing at?" He knew of course, but wanted to hear her describe it.

"A child's game, nothing more," she told him flippantly, growing more agitated.

Immediately, he noted her indifference, but went on. "Come, now that I am interested, I must have my way in knowing."

"We were just dressing in old props, and then . . ." She ceased speaking suddenly.

"_'And then . . .'_?" He urged while taking hold of her left hand.

"Then another friend of ours came, and Jacqueline had to leave," was all she revealed.

"Oh, that's a pity." He felt her body sigh in relief. "Which other friend?" He asked.

She knew she could lie, although it would have no effect—He always knew when she lied; however little often. "Matteo," was her murmured response.

"Matteo, he is a fine stagehand, is he not?" Erik had known little of Matteo before he had come to Caressa.

"We are only quiet friends, Master. I would not know of his skills." She knew that never before had she broken one of his rules so blatantly, and that it was possibly the most important. In that moment, he petrified her.

"You mustn't call me 'Master' now. Are you quite well, you're trembling?" In an attempt to warm her he pulled her back into him, and covered her with the warmth of his cloak. This only caused her to shake against him more violently. He bundled her closer while rubbing her arms, and her legs fell out from under her. Her body hung limp in his arms, and she pathetically tried to swat his hands away.

When he had immobilized her arms, she asked him in a frighteningly calm voice, "Why didn't you tell me?"

Erik remained silent as he dangled Caressa above the floor.

"I stopped breathing. Why didn't you say anything?" A sharp pain ran through her side when Erik dropped one of her arms and allowed her body to fall to the ground. Once he'd captured both of her arms again he stood above her with feet planted on either side of her body.

"You know what it is to lose someone that you care for. I was so close to losing you, and I'll go to great lengths to forget that the fault of your pain lies with me. Even without the knowledge of your near passing, you have such a cross to bear. Do you just assume I wish the worst for you; that I take deep pleasure from your pains?" He hissed this all at her, before dropping to his knees to continue in a dark whisper. "How could I enjoy anything that causes you harm when everyone of my actions is motivated to doing right by you. Protecting you is all there is for me, and I almost killed you."

As she took in all that he had just revealed, she reassessed him while looking at the glow on his face as he knelt on either side of her legs. _He cares so much. It's there in his eyes. His sins are great, but does he not deserve a chance at redemption? Forgiveness . . . That is the way of God, are we not to act in God's example?_ She thought quickly, her ideas rapidly changing. _What have I done?_

Long ago, Erik had lessened his grip on her arms. She reached up to touch the cold porcelain of his mask, and his hand quickly followed. "I would never," was all she had to say to get him to relax. What lie beneath had been the cause of such pain, because it was not what society considered to be beautiful. "You have green eyes, I only just noticed," she informed him. An odd, calm moment occurred where they each stared into each other's eyes.

_Such a sweet girl_, Erik thought, before the young woman beneath him began pushing at his shoulders.

"Get off of me! Please, I'm begging you, get off of me!" She pleaded with him in a distressed whisper. He quickly threw himself to one side of the hall, and watched as a frantic Caressa stood and shook out her skirts thoroughly. "I'm nearly positive that a rat had found its way up my skirts. Forgive my outburst. Today . . . Has been stressful." Erik remained on the floor. "Shall I be joining you down there then?" Instead of waiting for him to answer, she slid down the wall to sit beside him. "Why did we come back here again?"

"To discuss the situation of your brother," he reminded her.

"Oh, yes. What about him exactly?" Her mind was so far beyond exhausted, that she fought to remember what had transpired in her room.

"I had asked you what had caused him to lose his speech," he told her in an attempt to refresh her memory.

"Ah, I remember now," she assured him, while resting her head on his shoulder. "I know the reason . . ." She removed the glove on Erik's hand, and laced her bare fingers with his. "Something happened one night, many years ago. It scarred him, his mother broke him in a way I fear he'll never be fixed." Furious tears rolled down her cheeks as she told him this. "He was a boy, just a boy. We were all alone with her. Why didn't anyone stop her?"

All he could do was hold her closer as she shook from despair and rage, and went on ranting about her stepmother.

"How can he smile? I wish I could piece him altogether. So then I could hear his voice." All words after this were lost in sobs.

"Your brother smiles because he has you," Erik tried to calm her with this statement.

"Oh, you truly mustn't flatter me so. I shall be preening for compliments later," Caressa scolded playfully, while wiping her tears away and giving a last sob. "Honestly, I've cried more this month than in my entire life. And my mind is always playing tricks on me."

"Tricks?"

"Well, you see, I always find myself looking around for something that was never there to begin with. Or I'll misunderstand the simplest word or gesture, and become upset for no reason at all. It seems that I'm falling apart," she explained with a dry laugh.

"You're not falling apart, Caressa," he assured her.

"And how do you know that?" She demanded.

"You're grieving. Your father was very dear to you. It's a natural reaction to losing someone you love, and it will lessen with time." _No it won't. You are disgustingly depressed. You are falling apart and I am starting to see it,_ he kept this dark thought tucked safely inside his mind.

She smiled at him, the gesture being only offered from her mouth, her eyes remained emotionless. "I should attend to my brother. He'll be here for around a week. It's best you use the door from now on." They both got to their feet. "Well, good-day to you, Erik."

"And a good-day to you as well." He turned, and started off to his home.

"Oh, wait!" Caressa called quietly, and heard his footsteps stop. "Please, watch over him?"

"I am your angel, am I not? Your wish is my command."

"Thank you, Erik," she said with a light laugh, and entered her room.

_You're welcome._ At her words, her angel continued his shadowed descent into Hell.

* * *

Caressa returned to her resting brother. He was so incredibly tired when he had first arrived. Seeing such a small boy physically exhausted made her ill. She stroked his hair as he slept, not wanting him out of her sight for a moment; though she hoped Christophe would be safe with her angel watching over him.

Her brother's face began to flush with heat after a time, and Caressa removed his coat with care. Bruises were revealed across his wrists and hands from switches or rods. She was about to search for more mars on his skin, but was interrupted by a knock at the door of her room.

"Who may I ask is knocking!" She called toward the door.

"It's Matteo. I was just wondering if you were are all right!" Answered the stagehand.

The girl rose from the bed to open the door.

"Caressa, _are_ you all right?" Matteo whispered as she appeared at the door.

"I'm quite fine, Matteo." They had stood awkwardly for a moment. "Would you like to come in and sit down?"

"If I'm not intruding, because if you're busy I could come back tomorrow . . ."

"Matteo, just come in before I uninvite you." She giggled at the young man's abnormality.

"Right." He entered and sat in one of the velvet-upholstered armchairs. "I thought you had a guest, I'm guessing that they have left already?" He raised his eyebrows.

Caressa merely gestured to the bed where her brother's body lay.

"Ah, I see." The stagehand breathed a sigh of relief. "It's ridiculous, I thought perhaps the managers had . . . Actually, it's not important," he corrected himself, and looked away.

"_'You thought the managers had...'_ What?"

"It's not important, what I thought. You're safe." His eyes moved to the boy. "And it appears I arrived too late, it seems some letch has already made it into your bed."

"You wretched boy! What a mouth you have, even if you are joking." She scoffed.

"But you know I wasn't joking about being worried? Don't you?" He smiled at her. "A parent's death is not something that can be taken lightly."

The ballerina before him sighed. "You're very kind to think of me."

"Of course—"

A rustling noise came from the bed as the others in the room awakened Christophe.

"Christophe, this is Matteo. Matteo, this is my brother, Christophe," Caressa introduced them.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Christophe." Matteo stood to shake the boy's hand as he slid off of the bed. "Perhaps you will allow me to bring you some food. Surely you must be starving?"

Christophe nodded vigorously.

"Then it's settled. I'll get going." And with that, Matteo ran out the door.

"He's a kind boy, isn't he?" Caressa asked her brother.

He nodded, smiled, and held his stomach.

Caressa chuckled. "Yes, you best hope it's more than bread and butter he brings back. However, if it is, you should be just as grateful."

Christophe nodded, and his smile died on his lips. He would have been grateful for any food at all. Bread, even without butter, was better than starvation. They waited silently for a few more moments for Matteo to arrive back with the food.

Matteo returned quickly with a sack full of food. "Goodness, did you rob a vendor?" Caressa asked ecstatically.

"No, I've just got an 'in' with the chef down in the kitchen. Let's see what I was able to 'borrow,' shall we?" He began emptying the sack's contents onto a table.

"_'Borrow,'_ do they want it back?" Caressa joked.

"I should hope not. No ones going to want to eat it once we're through with it anyway." Matteo grinned while handing Caressa an apple. "Are we even supposed to be eating in here? You're not going to get in trouble for having food everywhere, are you?"

"Well, I actually always eat in here. It's nice. It's quiet." She ruffled Christophe's hair as she said this. He had been busy shoveling slices of smoked meat into his mouth. "You can chew love, it's not going anywhere."

Christophe lifted his eyes from his food to his sister, and then raised an eyebrow. He had a lock of hair in his mouth. The remainder of the golden blonde mass that didn't fit in a queue at his neck hung in his face. After his questioning glance, Christophe rolled his eyes and continued to shovel in the meal.

"What a charming brother I have, huh?" She sarcastically asked Matteo.

"Food is food, no matter how you put it in your mouth." Matteo answered her with a wink.

"Yes, but I'm afraid he'll get sick eating like this. He needs his nutrition though. At least his disgusting eating habits don't bother you." She gaped at Matteo as he slowly ate his food, mocking her thoroughly.

Suddenly Caressa gasped.

"Are you all right?" Matteo had nearly stood up from the table they surrounded.

"Oh, yes, yes, it's just that we've forgotten to say grace." As she said this, two identical scoffs erupted from the males on either side of her. Matteo sat back down and immediately she felt uncomfortable. "It's not going to kill us to forget one time, I suppose." She cast her eyes down, and twiddled her thumbs in her lap. When Caressa finally looked up her companions also had their heads down.

She reached out to their hands and took them in her own.

"You're not going to make us say grace, are you?" Matteo asked, keeping his hand limp in her grasp.

"No, I just don't want either of you feeling uncomfortable," Caressa was promptly interrupted as the door burst open.

"CARESSA! Honestly, two men at once?" Jacqueline burst into the room and strutted forward with a flamboyantly surprised look on her face. She sat in the chair across from Caressa. "And whom might this be?" She indicated Christophe. "He looks a bit young." She completely ignored Matteo, and wagged her eyebrows at Caressa. "But . . . There's always that stamina you never get with the older men, and . . ."

"Jacqueline! He's my brother, Christophe!" Caressa nearly yelled. And she could tell by the look on Christophe's face that he disliked Jacqueline already.

"Oh . . . But he's not—Heinrich's so . . . Well—He's got blonde hair," Jacqueline managed to shove out.

"Heinrich hasn't got blonde hair, or did you mean Christophe? That was the most confusing—Uh, you're hurting my brain," Caressa confusion showed as she declared this.

"Thanks," Jacqueline giggled.

"Right, Christophe, why don't you have Jacqueline give you a tour of the opera house while I talk with Matteo?" When Caressa had said this, her brother shook his head with a pleading look on his face.

"I'm sorry to disturb all of you, but I need to steal Jacqueline for a moment," piped a small voice from the door. It was Reinette.

Christophe grinned stupidly at the ginger girl.

"Well, she was just leaving, and taking my brother on a tour. You should go with, you won't lose him," Caressa suggested.

"Certainly." She smiled at Christophe for an instant. "Come then, plenty to show you." Jacqueline and Christophe walked quickly over to Reinette.

"Good-bye lovers!" Jacqueline called as she slammed the door shut. So Caressa and Matteo were left alone . . . And a heavy silence was present.

"A mute, huh?" Matteo asked.

"Yes," she replied.

"Good kid."

"Thank you, for bringing the food. He needed it. His mother didn't feed him much," she told him.

"No problem, you're welcome. Sorry for being such an ass, you know? The whole_ 'saying grace'_ thing." He fidgeted a little.

"Why did that bother you so much? Was it the way I said it?" She wondered aloud.

"Caressa, sometimes . . . There are people who don't believe in a God, or Heaven or Hell. And judging by your brother's reaction earlier, he doesn't believe in your God either," Matteo explained to her softly.

"Why don't you believe?" She wondered.

"Because no one controls what happens to us. Everyday, good, innocent people suffer injustices and pray to a God for solace, but it never comes. Children die, women are raped and murdered, and I think of people saying 'God's plan.' God would be a whole new kind of bastard to allow that to happen, but he doesn't just allow these things to happen, that twist plans it. So, even if He does exist, who is He to judge sin, when He's the greatest sinner of us all?" He spoke this heresy so delicately that it almost frightened her.

She tried to think of something to say in defense, but all that would come was, "You're right . . . And the strange thing is, I knew it already. But you know, when your life is a fraying rope, you have to believe is something."

"Sure, but you can find real things to put your faith in. Things you can see and people you can touch." Matteo reached out to touch her hand. "At the moment, I believe in you. It's that easy."

"So, if I wanted to I could believe in this table?"

Matteo pulled his hand away, and scratched his head. "It's got sturdy legs. It's made of solid wood. Dependable, strong, why not believe in it?"

"That's amazing, you know that?" Caressa assured him, though he hadn't swayed her beliefs, she appreciated the novelty of his.

"Now I do. You're not so bad yourself. And that brother of yours is fascinating. How old is he?"

"Thirteen, he'll be 14 soon. He's never going to speak, I think," she admitted with exhaustion.

"Your mother, she's not kind? From the way you mentioned her earlier, she sounds difficult."

"She's not my mother, only Christophe's. I think I can understand why he doesn't believe in God. Thirteen years of torture from that woman would make the Pope a nonbeliever." A dry laugh escaped her.

"Your father and stepmother beat him?" Asked Matteo with surprise in his voice.

"NO! My father would never have done such a thing. It's just that heartless woman. I wonder why she suddenly sent Christophe here? Perhaps she hoped Heinrich would bear all of her burdens for her." Caressa looked to Matteo, whom she had forgotten for a moment. "I'm sorry, I'm boring you."

"You think odd thoughts, but they're not boring." He grinned at her once more. "What's the time?"

"4:00."

"I'd love to stay longer, but I've remained too long already. If I'm going to live, I have to keep this job. So . . . Farewell, dear Elena." He made a flourish with his hand as he headed for the door.

"And farewell to you, dear Marcos," she replied. Caressa closed the door as he left and sighed with unexpected gaiety.

A minute later she dove onto her bed and relaxed for a time.

* * *

It did not take long before she realized that she still wore the black, satin dress from earlier. Caressa rose to remove it, and draped it over the back of an armchair. She then stood in front of her wardrobe to take off her ballet uniform. As she reached around to her back to undo the laces, two hands caught hold of her own.

"Allow me to assist you," Erik whispered in her ear. After saying this, he began slowly loosening the laces. "This is tedious work. Why don't you lie down?" He suggested, and stroked a hand over her ribs.

"If Christophe should come back," she protested.

"It will take quite a time for a tour of the opera house. Trust me, we'll be more comfortable. I insist," he told her, and led her to the bed without waiting for a reply.

Erik pulled her onto him as he sat on the edge of the bed. He began unlacing her corset again. For a moment she looked back at him, and as she did, he was staring back at her with darkened eyes. She thought she felt his lips on her back. When he had finished, he slid the uniform's straps down her shoulders. Caressa tried to pull away, but he held her by the waist.

"I'm not going to hurt you. Shh—I'm not going to hurt you." Though he said this to calm her, the struggle intensified. She wanted to cry out, but she couldn't find her voice. He threw her onto the middle of the bed and pinned her down. Still she kicked out against him, bringing her knees up continuously, but never throwing him.

Her earlier fear had been justified.

In a twisted movement all of her efforts were in vain as the Phantom ripped her clothing away from her; leaving her chest bare. It took a lifetime for him to be done staring at her body. His breathing was dangerously labored, nearly animal.

Tears flooded her face at his betrayal. He had seen the one secret she had been able to keep from him. Strangely, she didn't care that he may be about to molest her, but that he wouldn't look at her again in the same way.

"Your . . ."

"Erik, please don't," she whimpered.

"You're . . ."

"Don't look—I'm . . ." She stuttered.

"Disgusting. Why would I dare look at you?" He quickly rolled away from her, and turned his back.

"Please, don't hate me . . . please, don't hate me . . ." Invisible arms came around her and pulled her up into a chest. A loud 'shhhsh'ing noise was clearly audible to her; it was forced and unconfined.

* * *

She awoke to Christophe holding her tightly against him. The 'shhhsh'ing noise was his attempt to calm her.

"Christophe, it was terrible," she told him. Tears had actually escaped her eyes. Her brother had managed to quiet her, but continued to 'shhhsh' her. "You don't have to keep doing that, I know it's hard for you to do."

He discontinued the action immediately, but never let go of her. It was dark in the room and late in the night.

After Caressa had changed into her nightclothes, she laid down to sleep again and held her brother next to her. "We will be fine, and safe. I promise you, because I love you."

No sound escaped her brother's mouth, but she saw it move it the darkness.

_My brother._


	12. Sins

Reviews are most welcome.

* * *

**Chapter 12: Sins**

"Finally, another lesson. I'm afraid we may find ourselves out of the habit," Caressa told Erik before she began her vocal exercises. The nightmare she'd had a few nights prior made her wary of herself more than of Erik. Because her depressed manner affected everything she did, she took caution in being kind to everyone.

When Caressa and Erik decided to have a lesson, she simply told Christophe that her tutor would be coming. Matteo kindly volunteered to bring him with the rest of the stagehands where they were making adjustments to set pieces backstage.

"You should go get a glass of water, your throat is dry," Erik suggested while sitting in his chair.

"All right." And she went to do as he'd asked.

"How much longer is Christophe going to be staying?" Erik asked; needing to know how much longer he would have to skulk around.

Once she had finally finished her small glass of water she replied sheepishly, "Oh, I—I—was thinking about that just yesterday. I was really mulling it over a lot. And—You see—Heinrich is always extremely busy, and he will be away so much that..." She paused and bit her lip. "Perhaps Christophe could stay here, with me?" She whispered.

"That is out of the question! We already have to sneak about like dogs to get a lesson in. Do you want to have to do that forever?" He barked at her.

"Christophe has already met you, and he liked you, I know it. We are not _'sneaking about' _at all. He would have stayed for the lesson if Matteo hadn't invited him out for the day," she explained, assuming it would calm him.

"You're right, darling," he spat, "Why wouldn't he take to me? I'm a charming fellow, am I not?" Caressa normally would have laughed at this, however the look in his eyes told her it wasn't a comical query. That morning was not one of his better days. He continued, "I suppose though, if the boy does discover who I truly am..." In some way she knew his next comment would sting. "... It's not as if he could tell anyone."

Caressa swallowed, and remained silent. He could have threatened her, insulted her, or hit her for saying what she had. However, speaking of her brother in such a manner was something she would not tolerate.

As if a veil had lifted, Erik realized what he had said. "I—" He stood and walked toward her. "That wasn't right, even for... Forgi—"

"Go..." She whispered it, but it rang out clearly. With her eyes cast down, she pointed at the mirror. "I told you to go."

"Please, liste—" He started.

"If you insist that we are _'sneaking about like dogs,' _I suggest you go back to your home, canine," she spoke with great intensity, like that of a strong, sure woman. Never wavering, her finger still pointed at the mirror.

Erik began walking to the mirror. He indeed felt like a dog, poking fun at a boy's disability. He found it ironically foolish. After he passed through the glass, he watched her.

The mirror closed and she slumped to the floor. All she could do was shake violently, rocking back and forth. Someone was holding her suddenly, and she gasped, "Why? Why did you say that?" She cried into her master's chest.

"I was being foolish. I swear that I had never meant to say it. Your brother is a wonderful boy." He lightly kissed her head at this.

"He is a wonderful boy," she assured him.

"Yes, and he's a likable boy," he told the girl as she slowly lost her depressed aura.

"You've taken to him," she told him.

"Yes, yes, and you say he's taken to me," he reminded her as her last sobs ended.

"Yes, he can stay," she informed him stiffly.

"He can stay," he repeated, bestowing his consent without realizing it.

"Oh! Truly! Thank you, master! You won't regret this! But I never want to hear another cruel joke about him." Her companion contemplated where she had begun in tricking him.

"You are the Devil. Do you know that?" He asked her before she started laughing.

"Come now, we really should begin the lesson, I believe you've properly apologized." They stood and began.

They ran through the songs for the night's opera. All of which were satisfactory.

"Satisfactory? Master, am I that terrible?" She wondered in worry.

"No, no. The one thing you lack is understandable," he attempted to placate her woe; he did not succeed.

"The performance is tonight, if I'm doing something wrong, fix it! I am not a vain being, however do not wish to look a fool before all of Parisian society," she pleaded.

"If your reputation as a virtuous girl means anything to you, it doesn't matter." Erik hadn't realized he would get himself into an awkward position when he spoke the simple word _'satisfactory.'_

"Please? Please tell me? Please, I'll be perfect, just for you." She gave him a sweet pout that he couldn't deny.

Giving in, he took her hand and pulled her close. Out of breath at the unforeseen action, she was gasping slightly. Her eyes found his in a questioning glance.

"Do you know what Carmen is?" He began explaining.

"An opera..."

"No, the character of Carmen. Do you know what she is?"

"... A gypsy..." He shook his head at her answer. "... A cigarette factory employee..." Once again she was wrong. "No? Then, er—A woman?"

"Carmen is a harlot! A flaunting, gypsy whore," He finally explained. "All she does the entire opera is entice every male she sees. She is meant to be lust incarnate. She is wanted, but so fluid that no man can hold her. That is what you lack." Embarrassed and flustered, he sat in his chair.

"So... You're saying that I can't be a good whore?" As she asked this he was shocked into silence for a moment.

"You're not meant to act like a 'whore.' The audience will interpret that your character is a whore no matter how you play it. _You_ come off as a kindly, sweet whore. The role is usually played with sensuality," he informed her.

"You're my tutor, teach me how to play the role with _sensuality_," she begged him, imitating his voice as she said 'sensuality'.

Erik put his head in his hand; he was blushing and he knew it. There was a tug at his trouser's leg. When he looked down she was sitting there on her knees.

"Master, are you quite all right?" She asked with bashful concern.

"Come." He stood up and took her with him. "Show me arabesque penchée," he ordered her while tapping her thigh.

"Uh…" She stammered and looked down at her ballet skirt.

"Go on, I've seen your bare skin before. What are those tights to my eyes?" He tapped her thigh again, "Arabesque penchée."

A moment later, Caressa was staring up at him from her new position. One leg was raised high in the air in a solid vertical split. "May I inquire as to why you've suddenly turned into Madame Giry? Don't tell me, you've been the same person all along!" Caressa gasped with feigned shock.

"My dear girl. . ." He stared at her body in astonishment. She balanced without a waver, and she had slid her legs into position so fluidly it was as if she were in water. "Sometimes I forget you are the most prodigious ballerina ever to cross this stage." Erik sank on his knees to bring himself to her eye level.

"It puts my singing into perspective, I suppose," she joked. He glanced up darkly and she clearly saw that he was not amused.

"To the lesson," he reminded her, and began running his hands along her ankle. This caused her to waver for a moment, but she held her position. His hands glided up her calf and around her knee; her breath quickened, as his hands did not stop their ascent. He stared at her while stroking her thighs and her body began to tremble.

When he had reached her innermost thigh, he removed his hands and began stroking downwards on her extended leg.

"Erik…?" She whimpered softly.

"Relax and quiet yourself while your master examines you," he scolded her with a slight clicking of his tongue.

Caressa could only see Erik's legs while he stood behind her, and she was becoming increasingly more uncomfortable by not knowing what he was up to. His hands reached the bottom of her extended leg and he paused. Caressa could feel gooseflesh sprouting on her arms when he stiffened.

Without warning, Erik cupped his left hand firmly upon her groin and situated his right arm behind her. Caressa jerked violently off of her foot and fell limply against Erik's right arm; he caught her and held most of her weight. Her supporting foot brushed the carpet lazily. When Erik looked down at her, she was exasperated and gasping for breath.

"What is the meaning of this?" She scolded him, attempting to tear away.

He laughed. "You don't become half so offended when Francois Dupont holds and touches you so," Erik reminded her as he released her.

"Francois is an actor, that is when we act," she countered.

Erik was ready with a retort, "So, you can't act with me?"

Caressa sighed, "It's not the same when I'm with you." Once this admission had left her lips, her eyes grew wide and she slightly turned away.

"Why?" He stepped toward her, "Why isn't it the same?"

"I don't know." She paused. "It feels different when someone you care about touches you from when someone you work with touches you. When you touched me so, it was. . . close."

"'Close'?" Erik believed that from the dark tone in her voice that she was beginning to understand his lesson.

"It will seem silly, but you and I are much closer than Francois and myself. You affect me more than he does. Well, he doesn't affect me at all, but my body shook with something that seemed dangerous a few moments ago. Your touch is like something much more forbidden," she sighed heavily and looked down. "I become so affected, when you get so. . . close."

"Don't you see? That is what you lack: something dangerous and forbidden." Erik's stomach tightened when Caressa explained the sensations she received at his touch. "There is a quality that Carmen should possess, something that is ethereal, primal and dark."

"Oh..." Caressa whispered breathlessly," I see... The lesson is to feel that danger? To project that danger? I want to affect Francois the way you affected me just now?"

He said nothing.

"Master? Is that the lesson?" She asked again.

"You need to feel it, and you need to make the audience feel it," he replied passionately. "And now you will try, so that I may assess what you have learned."

"Try what? To seduce you?" She blurted. Her head fell back and she giggled.

"Yes, don't be too obnoxious." He smiled. "If you would please stand up."

"What am I supposed to do now? This is silly," she ranted.

Erik remained silent and looked across the room.

"Fine," she assented. After a moment of thought, she returned to her former arabesque penchée position and peered up at him while wiggling her nose.

He was unamused.

She sighed in exasperation and returned to first position. "Close your eyes, I wont be so embarrassed," she whispered to him. When he had obeyed her, she led him backwards until he fell back into his chair.

A moment later Erik felt something land across his left shoulder. Then Caressa began singing Habanera softly in his ear. He opened his eyes and saw that her right thigh was against his shoulder while her left leg supported her; she was performing a front split over him. Her body was bent close to his as she sang to him. As he watched she removed her leg and went into attitude, with her right leg bent behind her. She swept her leg in front of her body and raised it toward the ceiling; her arms wrapped around the leg as if it were a lover as she continued to sing. Erik wanted to remind her that she would need to be a singer over a ballerina that night, but he could not find it in himself to interrupt her. She turned slowly on her left leg, reminding Erik of a sensual music box figurine. He felt himself become warm, and he could feel every beat of his heart in his chest. But it was the stirring beneath his waist that caused him to panic.

"Caressa, you may stop that now!" Erik nearly shouted. She stopped abruptly and stared at him with expectant eyes. "You surprise me with your powers of seduction, Caressa. I found it difficult not to respond." His eyes were on fire as he stared at her.

Her cheeks blushed bright red. "I did as you asked; I wish only to make you prideful of your skills as a master."

"And I am proud. Though I must admit that Madame Giry has much to do with your... abilities. I have only seen the like of such talents in India, when I was a much younger man." He coughed and finally found himself decent to stand. He took her hand and nodded, "I believe that you are ready to seduce Paris."

"Thank you, master. You know, it's strange that I've gone from despising you to holding your hand all in one morning. I suppose that it's my mercurial sensibility." She laughed. "I think my performance tonight will be my best ever. Thanks to you..."

He let her hands go.

"All right. I've got to be heading to rehearsal. If you could please help me into my costume for the night I shall be settled." They quickly worked together to dress her in the garment.

"Caressa, I can be there for the performance... With Christophe in Box 5, but then I must leave. There is business I must attend to tonight. Once I return I shall give you my review. Now go!" He rushed her out the door and remained for a few moments, catching his breath as he recalled Caressa's movements.

* * *

Rehearsal was going splendidly until performance time; when everyone's wardrobe was malfunctioning and props weren't holding together. Though as with the previous performances the actors, costumers and stagehands carried it off, as did the wonderful orchestra.

The audience laughed when they were meant to, cried when then were meant to, and gasped when they were meant to. Through it all Caressa transformed on stage. From an innocent, delicate young girl into a passionate, lustful young woman. Francois Dupont, the actor performing the role of Don José, immediately noticed the change in his partner. At first, he was taken aback and quite unsure how to respond to her reinvention, but he found himself as drawn toward her as the audience had been. He had grasped her hands during the intermission and proclaimed her transformed. After the curtain had closed, she reformed back from Carmen to herself. The performance had brought down the house, not literally, of course.

Caressa swiftly gave thanks to all of the congratulations. Only once did she stop to chat with Jacqueline and Reinette, and then she returned to her room. Christophe was waiting there with Madame Giry.

"You were so very wonderful, Caressa. Beautiful!" Giry exclaimed while embracing her.

Christophe embraced her as well, smiling all the while.

"Did you like it? Hmm?" His sister wondered.

He nodded while grinning with pride.

Giry butted in, "I'm glad you liked it Christophe, however Caressa, is there anything that you would like me to tell the papers?"

"Whatever you like," The girl answered.

Madame Giry nodded slowly as she began to exit the room. She turned back as she reached the door. "You know that you will have to give interviews eventually? Good night." With that, Madame Giry left the room.

"Now, I know you liked it, but how did Master Erik seem to enjoy it?" She attempted to shove her impatience on Christophe.

Her brother imitated someone drooling, then laughed soundlessly.

"How charming. So... I'm exhausted, what about you?" Caressa asked her deeply sleep-deprived brother.

Christophe fell back on the bed.

"Yes, that sounds about right." After changing into her night clothes, Caressa fell onto the bed next to her brother. "Hmm... I can barely keep my eyes open. Put out the light if you please." Her brother did as she requested and they both fell fast asleep.

* * *

"Psst—Hello... Caressa..." A voice whispered, interrupting the girl's rest.

"Hmmm...?" Caressa sighed, hardly awake.

"Wake up, sleepy girl," a man's voice softly said to her.

"E... rik... I'm sleeping," she whined.

The man grunted, "Can't even wake up to see your big brother?" The girl's eyes flew open at this. "I suppose I should just leave then." He began walking to the door.

"Heinrich! Wait! I don't want you to go. Stay, please?" She whispered forcefully at him.

Caressa crawled from bed and went to her older brother's side. "Caressa, the reason I've come here is rather urgent. It requires immediate attention." He paused, "But it's difficult to discuss. The topic is finances." For a time he looked away from her, off into the darkness.

"Whatever it is, tell me," Caressa ordered.

"Oh, Christ—" Heinrich struggled to explain. "—I'm living out of the back room in the shop. I had to rent out my flat above it. God, I'm in the worst way for money. The shop is going under. I can't feed myself, let alone Christophe. And I simply don't know what to do." He stopped, appearing broken.

"The shop always made money before..." Caressa began.

"Before your father died. Now—now the customers who came for the respectability of Andre Bucher can't find it in me. They had come to help your father, now they don't come at all. No one wants to buy from _'Bucher's' _when it's not really _'Bucher's'_ anymore." He hung his head. "Which brings me to why I came to you."

"Heinrich, I don't have any money. I have to use my earnings for room and board for myself, and Christophe as well. With that there is nothing left to give," she admitted.

"Well... There are two items in the shop that people have made offers toward. Generous offers." While telling her this his shame kept growing.

"What items?" She begged to know.

Silence was his reply.

"What items!" The young woman whispered viciously as she shoved her brother into am armchair. She then knew what he would say. She knew.

He inhaled deeply, "Carolina: The piano."

"No," Caressa whimpered.

"And your father's violin that you gave me," he rushed out.

"No!" She cried, "You wouldn't sell them." She fell to knees to beg.

"Caressa, I need to survi..." He tried to tell her.

"So you'll sell my heart and a part of my soul to a stranger?" At this she nearly screamed.

"Shh, don't wake Christophe, he need not hear this." Heinrich sat with her and pulled her head to his chest. "There is a part of you that understands. Somehow you know I wouldn't ask this of you unless it was of the utmost importance. This is my life."

"This is my mother's piano and my father's violin... And I cannot believe—" She stared at Heinrich's pleading face a moment, "—That I'm going to allow you to sell them."

Heinrich embraced his sister and walked her back to her bed. Tears rolled down her cheeks in the darkness. _The last pieces of my mother and father gone._

"You sleep now. I can sleep in a chair," her brother told her.

"No matter," she replied. For a long while she attempted to sleep, however her shame outweighed her exhausted body. It felt to her as though she was Faust and the strangers at the shop were Mephistopheles. What seemed like hours later Caressa heard the door open and close. Sitting up quietly, she noticed that Heinrich had left.

She instantly rose to the floor, grabbed a robe and went to search for him. First she took every short cut she knew to get to the front doors, and waited for him to come. Nothing. After that she searched randomly, thinking that he had perhaps become lost.

When her venture had become seemingly fruitless, she discovered something peculiar on the second floor, down a hallway of alcoves meant to showcase artwork. As she walked passed she could hear someone gasping. Upon hearing this, she investigated further in the direction of the noise.

Nearly coming to the source of the sound Caressa was grasped from behind and pulled into the cover of an alcove. The scent of Erik's leather gloves calmed her.

"Remain quiet," he hushed her, "Trust me." She did as he instructed.

While Caressa and Erik remained quiet, the noises continued. In a short time Caressa realized they were listening to a person. And in an even shorter time after that she realized it was not one person, but two.

Caressa was shocked as two bodies came barreling out of an alcove opposite them and slammed against a pillar in front and to the left of her. In an instant she knew what they were doing, any queries she had ever had about the act of intercourse were answered; it was happening right in front of her virgin eyes. For a moment she looked away. Soon her gaze returned and she could see the man, who was pinning the woman to the pillar, clearly. It was Heinrich, her brother.

How she wanted to look away. But when she'd discovered that Heinrich was the man, she needed to know who the woman was. As if responding to her question, Heinrich pulled away and ran them into a pillar opposite Caressa and Erik. It took a brief time for the girl to register who was fornicating with her brother. First she saw the long blonde hair, and the upturned nose. Then she heard the obnoxious giggle. It was Jacqueline, her best friend.

Erik, who was having a similar reaction to Caressa's, snapped out of his wonderment, and realized Caressa was watching as well. Thinking fast, he opened the hidden door which he had exited from to grab Caressa. He then proceeded to shove her through it; just as he was about to follow, Heinrich and Jacqueline ended up by the pillar nearest Caressa and Erik again. Erik put his lips to Caressa's ear and barely breathed, "Just go." He would have to pull the door shut and lock it, and that meant waiting until Heinrich and Jacqueline were finished.

* * *

Caressa ran silently back to her room, she came out of the hidden passageway near her room's door. She entered silently, and laid back in the bed with Christophe. Her tearing eyes wide with betrayal and disbelief.

* * *

Back in the alcove, Erik was waiting it out until Heinrich and Jacqueline would leave. He assumed they were almost finished as their passions began to intensify. Knowing that they would leave soon after, he pulled the key out of his cloak. After passing through the door and preparing to close it he heard something come out of Heinrich's mouth that made even the Phantom's murderous blood run cold. The girl hadn't reacted to it, perhaps he had imagined it, or perhaps the darker alternative was that she was used to it. Appalled and sickened by the word that had been called out, he sifted it through his mind once more:

_Caressa._

* * *

Caressa lie in bed, dumbfounded. For the rest of the night she remained awake, dreading her brother's awkward return. He, however, did not come back to the room. She stared at the ceiling, mulling through what to do next. _I shall confront Jacqueline, and have her tell me everything. But should I like to know everything?_

Christophe stirred beside her; the night quickly bled into morning. She turned to face him, "Christophe, you wouldn't mind taking a walk about, would you?" He glared at her with sleep deprived eyes, "I meant once you've had a nice taste of the morning and changed into your clothes. This morning I have much business to attend to, and it is quite private."

Her younger brother shrugged his shoulders in compliance, and then began his morning routine. He opened the shutters on the window to let the light shine in. His smile brightened to give off a glow that rivaled the rays upon upon his face.

"You're quite pleased with yourself this morning," Caressa stated, wondering how someone could be so happy when such an important ignorance was brought to light.

Christophe shrugged his shoulders once again, and tilted his head side to side, while continuing to smile. He finished dressing quickly while his sister pushed him out of the room. She hurried to dress as well, shortly after beginning to tie her boot laces a noise by the window caused her to look away...

* * *

Immediately after hearing her name come from Heinrich's lips, Erik bolted through the walls to reach Caressa's room; he had to tell her. What could he say? What did it even mean? He was about to burst out of the wall passage near Caressa's room when he noticed a maintenance cart. There were men checking all of the gas lamps in the hallway. Four men were walking up and down the hall. He elected not to be seen, and to wait for them to finish their work. He sat down, and rested while waiting.

What he assumed was 45 minutes later, the men were finally finished. Once he had glanced out to see that he would not be detected, he swiftly moved through the hall and into Caressa's room. She was looking toward the window when he entered.

"Caressa!" Erik called softly. She turned to him with a look of sadness.

"Am I to always be the last to know? The most naive?" She questioned. "How I must frustrate you, with my childish ignorance." Once more she looked to the window.

"You know what you witnessed then?" He wondered, not yet sure how to proceed with telling her of her brother's perverted outburst.

"I know full well. Intimate relations out of wedlock. In public no less." She put her head between her knees.

"It is not so uncommon, especially in an opera house," he tried to calm her.

"Well, that's one thing I'm not so ignorant about," she sobbed.

Erik sat beside her and spoke, "When two people love each other in a way that is deep and passionate, they tend to abandon the laws of society. Perhaps they love each other, Caressa." He smiled at her, forgetting his purpose.

Her face raised to look at his. "Do you believe that they love each other? If they loved each other, I could hardly be upset."

"They must care for each other deeply." He stared into her honey eyes and prayed her entire body tasted the same.

"What is the appeal of such an intimate relationship? I don't understand." She asked with half-lidded eyes.

"The appeal is in touching another person." He put his hand on her cheek. "The warmth one might gain." He pulled her closer to his body. "And the connections we create with our bodies." He pulled her lips to his while placing one hand between her thighs. For a moment he felt nothing, before his heart expanded and his breathing labored. The world around him was flooding, and all he could do was touch her. She was soft and accessible in his hands, she was wearing only her night shift, his vision clouded, but he could feel the skin of her thighs as he pulled down her leggings.

"Stop..." Caressa said weakly, "... I, I can't..."

"I... I am your teacher... Am I not?" He gasped while running his hands around her body.

Caressa nodded, unable to form a reply.

"Allow me to instruct you," he ordered while pulling her shift over her head, and marveling at her body. "Oh... And I shall teach your glorious body to sing." He laid her out on the bed to have the best view. "Your body is an instrument, and with it, I shall compose symphonies." Everywhere he touched her, she expelled a wonderful new sound. It was unbelievable.

He took his hands off of her for a moment to remove all but his trousers. With the last item of clothes still in place he moved his body against hers rhythmically, pushing their hips together.

"You're an angel, Caressa." He pushed his last piece of clothing to the floor, "And... I-"

Just as he was about to take her, a door in the hallway slammed shut. He woke up in the wall, still waiting to enter Caressa's room. In an instant, tears of frustration formed in his eyes. He was always dreaming the same dream, but that time had felt the most tangible._ She won't ever let me touch her... Damn it, now she must know of Heinrich._ After gathering himself, he watched for a moment and then entered her room. It was empty.

His eyes scanned the room. As they reached the bed, he became lightheaded. He longed to hold her body; to play her like one of his instruments. The mirror caught his eye and he could no longer stand. Erik retreated to his home underground, and lost consciousness as he lie in his gondola.

* * *

Caressa looked back at her boot laces after discovering nothing at the window. She was going to find Jacqueline, and discuss just exactly what was going on. Once giving her appearance a glance, she dashed out of the room.

As she made her way to the dormitories, she seethed. When she rounded a corner, she collided head on with someone coming from the other direction. They both fell to the ground and sheets of paper littered the floor.

"Oh, goodness, I'm sorry, I wasn't looking where I was going!" Caressa explained to the man holding his head in front of her. She did not care to recognize him at that moment. "I'll help you with these." She collected over half of the papers on the ground and handed them to the man. "I'm sorry to be rude, but I must go. Have a pleasant day!"

While running off again, she heard the man say, "I told you not to allow me to hold your pieces."

And a man she had not noticed responded, "Wha- Oh, I number them now."

Stopping for nothing, she reached the dormitories. Jacqueline was no where to be found. While her eyes still searched she caught Meg Giry's attention. Meg came to her side with concern.

"Caressa, you look so worried. What is the matter?" Meg asked.

"Please, Meg, in the hall," Caressa said, directing her out into the hallway. She looked at the older girl and allowed tears to form in her eyes before continuing. "Meg, I've just discovered that my brother is—well he has been committing certain acts with one of my dearest friends. Oh, Meg, what am I to do?"

Meg took her hand, "Caressa, Heinrich promised you would never know about us. I swear, that's all over now. I ended our affairs months ago." Caressa gaped at her friend.

"Meg! I was talking about Jacqueline!" Caressa pulled her hand away. "Both of you?" She shouted before running back toward her room.

She heard Meg stupidly call, "I'll tell Jacqueline you're looking for her!"

When she arrived back at her room she slumped on the bed, mentally exhausted by the ghastly torrent of information_. Just how many women at this opera house has my brother been with?_ Someone pounding at the door interrupted her thoughts. She rose and called, "Who's there?"

"It's Jacqueline! Meg said you needed me?" Caressa waited a moment and opened the door. "What is it?"

"What were you doing late last night?" Caressa interrogated.

"Sleeping, I suppose," Jacqueline answered casually.

"Don't you dare lie to me! I saw you with Heinrich!" Caressa fired at her friend.

For the first time in years, Caressa saw hurt in Jacqueline's face, "Oh..."

"Do you love him?" Caressa hoped the answer would be yes.

"I love him with all of my heart," Jacqueline looked in her eyes and she saw it was true.

"You know he was with Meg Giry as well?"

"Caressa, I told you. _'I love him.' _I never mentioned him loving me," Jacqueline was in pain at that. "He doesn't love me, and he didn't love Meg Giry. He's told me a million times that the only person he loves—Oh, God—is you." Jacqueline covered her mouth and gasped as she let the information slip out.

"What?" Caressa asked, not completely understanding.

"It's disgusting. When he fucks me, he calls out your name. All he ever speaks of is you. Your brother is not all sunshine and kindness. Something is wrong with him. He's utterly obsessed with you. He will only take lovers that are ballerinas, because they remind him of you." Jacqueline stopped herself. "I don't know why I've told you this. Whether it was to spite him or you. Oh, he'll kill me!" Jacqueline whispered before darting out the door.

Caressa chased her out the door and screamed at her friend's back, "YOU'RE A LIAR! A FILTHY WHORE AND A LIAR!" When she calmed, she returned to her room. "How could she say such things?" Caressa asked aloud. It was absurd; filthy. She would never believe that. _But could it be possible?_ No. Caressa felt dirty at the very idea. Her skin crawled with the horrendous thought of it. _Heinrich is my brother._ Caressa looked to the door and then locked it.

Her skin felt oily and she smelled a ripeness about her. _Everything disgusts me today._ She began removing her clothes behind a screen before robing and entering her private washroom. The wash tub was not anything grandiose, but it was large enough to somewhat submerge herself in. It also had a copper plumbing system. Caressa allowed the water to run while attempting to clear her mind.

Once it had filled she threw her robe on a chair and sunk into the water. She submerged and consented her muscles to relax. While beneath the surface all she could hear was the beat of her heart and the water trickling from the faucet. The soap in the tub caused her eyes to remain closed. Something suddenly blew across her knees and she surfaced.

"You promised to remain in the bedroom while I bathe, monsieur," Caressa told Erik.

"I said nothing of the sort," her visitor protested; her stomach turned.

It was not Erik, but Heinrich. Immediately she grabbed for her robe, but it was not where she had left it.

"Heinrich, this isn't proper. Please, wait outside," Caressa pleaded.

"Proper? I used to bathe you when you were a child. Do you remember, Caressa?" He looked at her with soft eyes.

"That was a long time ago, Heinrich. I am a woman now. And _now_ it is not right for you to be here—Wait..." Caressa looked at the door to the washroom. "... I locked the door—" She crossed her arms over her breasts and moved as far away as she could get while still in the tub.

"It was such a simpler time when I could wash the dirt away from your skin." He picked up a cloth and began rubbing it along her shoulder.

She flinched. "Stop... Please..." But he did not. She closed her eyes and turned her head.

Heinrich began humming softly while continuing to run the wet cloth about her. He moved it along her collar bone, and then beneath the water and between her breasts. It continued across her stomach and up her thigh, back out of the water. The cloth rested on her knee for a moment, then slowly descended back down her thigh until it rested in the place where her thighs were pressed together.

"Come, come, Caressa. Don't you wash everywhere? And certainly you should wash the dirtiest part of your body. If you should be clean anywhere, it should be here." He tried to press the cloth closer to her most private place. "Do you know what this part of you is for?"

Her legs closed tighter, and she shook her head in hopes that he would just stop.

But he didn't. He pried her knees open and the cloth found its destination. Caressa gasped and began to cry. He slowly moved it up and down while Caressa whimpered. When he finally stopped, he ordered her out of the bath.

As she rose while failing to cover herself, he motioned for her to step into the towel he was holding out. She did so reluctantly and he began rubbing her body. "Come into the room with me," he demanded before half-pushing/half-carrying her into the main room. He sat in a chair across from the bed and pulled Caressa onto him.

It was not at all like sitting on Erik, she was terrified of her own brother. "Heinrich, Heinrich, you're my brother, you've got to stop this," she pleaded again.

"You used to sit on my lap every day. And besides, we were siblings by marriage, a divorced marriage. I am no more your brother than I am your father. You cannot deny that you care for me." He played with her hair, while one hand found her inner thigh.

"Only as my brother! Nothing more! You could have Jacqueline; she loves you!" Caressa was relieved when he stopped touching her.

"Jacqueline? Yes, she told me you'd discovered us. I figured as much that she couldn't keep her whorish mouth shut," He whispered. Caressa looked back at him and nodded quickly. "What has she said?" His eyes looked at her, demented. "What did she tell you?" He roared at Caressa.

"I'm starting to believe she told me the truth..." Caressa replied meekly.

Heinrich grabbed her roughly by the jaw and repeated, "What did she tell you?"

"That you only took on ballerina lovers because you're obsessed with me," she admitted quickly.

"Obsessed? I would never suspect she could comprehend the love I have for you! That parasitic little slut is nothing! She doesn't deserve her whorish life!" His anger continued to grow. His hands began to roam her body once more. "Caressa, there are so many things I've wanted to tell you since I first knew I loved you." His hand moved between her legs, "So many things that bitch wouldn't understand." Strangely, Caressa felt the urge to anger him more; to hurt him.

She whispered into his ear with quiet malice, "You remind me of your mother."

In an instant she was hurled to the ground. She scrambled toward the single lit lamp in the room and blew it out. She was being hunted in the dark, while naked, by her brother.

He screamed his rage at her, "I am not like her! Caressa, love, where are you? Where are _you_?" While he raged, she moved toward the door. She felt along the wood for the handle. When she pushed down it didn't open, it was stuck.

"I used my pocket knife to jam it," Heinrich explained before grabbing a flailing Caressa from behind, "I didn't want to be interrupted." He carried her toward the bed. In the darkness, she was not forewarned when her head collided violently with the backboard as Heinrich threw her onto the bed. Her head reeled with pain as she attempted to focus. The fear and pain threatened her consciousness, but she prevailed... for a moment.

She was immediately overpowered when he held both of her wrists in one hand, and pinned her body with his legs. His free hand found its way between them and she shrieked when he attempted to put them in her.

"Bone dry, I'm sorry," He hushed her while trying to kiss her. His fingers caressed around her and he cooed at her; he began humming. She cried and tried to scream, but the pain in her head was too great.

Once he started humming, Caressa saw a face above her that was not Heinrich's. Suddenly, her imagination told her that Erik was above her, and it was him that was touching her. The crying stopped.

"That's my girl. Oh, that didn't take long at all." She felt more than fingers pressing against her and her imagination quickly changed its mind. Heinrich was on her, nearly raping her! "Quiet now, my love." He began to push and Caressa bucked sideways violently, keeping him out of her and slightly jarring him. "Hold still, you slut!" He shouted while backhanding her.

The blow caused her to elicit a bloodcurdling scream. Caressa heard a thundering crack and then Heinrich was no longer on top of her._ Erik_, she thought instantly. But in the light flowing from the hall, (as the door had been taken off of its hinges), it was revealed that Erik was not her rescuer. The back of a much shorter man was toward her, standing over a bleeding Heinrich.

A voice she had never heard before bellowed harshly and untamed, "If I should ever see your face again, I will cut off your fucking head! And I do not imply the head atop your neck!" Heinrich still cowered, his side bleeding. The figure held a blade, dripping gore. "Go! Get out of my sight!" At this, Heinrich darted from the room.

Someone was at her side, draping her in a blanket. She clung onto them and watched the figure fall to his knees. The person holding her rocked her back and forth, while humming. Before she lost consciousness she heard his melody.


	13. Jekllyne and Matri

Reviews are most welcome.

* * *

**Chapter 13: Jekllyne and Matri**

Caressa awoke the next morning to a hand on her cheek. Her eyes opened on Christophe. He smiled and pushed her uniform into her arms. She tried to protest and he handed her a slip of paper.

"Attend rehearsals today."

She stared at him, frightened that he knew. _Perhaps the men told him. Surely he'd wondered why the door was off its hinges. S_he stared up once more at her determined brother. "All right, but only because you asked it of me." She embraced him and kissed his forehead before dressing. "Will you be going to work with Matteo?" After she asked him this, she peered around the screen.

Her brother nodded. He was already dressed and began walking out the door.

"Oh, wait! Christophe, please—walk me to the stage?" He returned to her side and pulled her down into his arms. He slowly held her out at arm's length, and displayed a reassuring smile.

Before leaving the room he kissed her forehead and took her hand. They walked down to the stage in that fashion. As they arrived backstage, all eyes gradually turned in their direction.

"Thank you, Christophe. Now go have fun," Caressa told him quickly. She felt everyone's eyes on her as she made her way across the stage. When Jacqueline saw her, she ran off in tears, attempting to contain her sobs. Meg appeared humiliated, while Reinette frantically ran to her side.

"Caressa, dear, what's happened? Your face is a fright!" Her friend seemed horrified by what she saw. "Come here, come look." Reinette led her back into the dormitories, and sat her down at a vanity.

"My God. . ." Caressa whispered when she saw her face. Her eye and cheek were bruised a deep purple that was faded to a pale yellow. It explained the aching pressure that had pulsed there. _How could Christophe allow me to be seen like this?_ She glanced up at Reinette, mortified that everyone in the theatre had seen this shameful mark. "Does it look as bad as I think it does?" She begged to know.

Reinette's eyes wandered, and she nodded sheepishly. "Caressa, last night everyone heard some sort of commotion coming from a room down your hall. . . Tell me what happened? Who hurt you?" Reinette was overwhelmed with concern, but Caressa didn't know whether she should tell her.

The doors to the dormitory suddenly burst open and both girls whipped about in shock. Madame Giry stormed into the room. Her face was glowing hot in anger, and Caressa found herself a little frightened. "I _SWEAR_ on all that is good and Holy, that waste of a man shall be made to suffer! I'll ring his neck with my bare hands!" Giry paused and glared at Reinette, "Reinette Martin, leave us at once!" She ordered, and the ballerina was gone.

"Madame, Erik didn't—" Caressa attempted to speak, but she was drowned out by the Madame's tirade.

"I'll kill him! I'll tell everyone where he is! I'll—"

"Madame! Stop!" The girl pleaded, and finally Madame Giry quieted her anger. "Erik didn't touch me," Caressa began to explain.

"Oh, but your fa—" Giry protested.

"Madame! If you ever believe anything I say, believe me now when I say, 'Erik had absolutely nothing, at all, to do with the events that took place last night!'" She shouted.

"Then what did happen?" Giry demanded through her exasperation.

"My brother—Heinrich—tried to, well. . . Force himself on me." She swallowed, and a nervous shame crept through her body. "He came into my room and made his intentions inescapably clear—he told me he loved me. Then he tried—when I protested, he struck me. Then a few men burst into the room to stop him, but Erik never showed himself."

The Madame was aghast. She could not believe what her pupil was telling her. Heinrich had always seemed like a very kind man and attentive brother when he visited Caressa. He had been the one to write her six years before to inform her of Caressa's talent. He begged her to visit Lille to see the child dance. Aside from a slightly unusual number of visits, she had not witnessed anything to suggest such an infatuation. _What would drive him to such violence?_ She wondered. _This child needs no more misfortune._

"Oh, Caressa, I shall alert the authorities to his offense. Heinrich shall be punished. If not by the police, then by my arrangement." Madame Giry gently placed a hand on Caressa's shoulder; she hoped the touch felt motherly. "You wont leave my side today. Come, I must run a few errands. You'll come along with me. Perhaps you will rehearse if we finish quickly enough." Giry smiled and held out her arm. "I shall schedule you for a doctor's visit soon as well."

* * *

Caressa experienced a strange and remarkably peaceful feeling as she assisted the Madame in running errands. It seemed safe and simple, and it reminded her of being a young child. Perhaps if her mother had lived, they would have performed such activities. Many of the errands involved the Masquerade Ball, and Caressa's excitement over the event resurfaced.

When they had finished delivering a last urgent message from the managers, Madame Giry approached Caressa's hall. "There is one last thing I must do." Madame Giry lightly took her arm and knocked on a door across the hall from Caressa's room. As she viewed the splintered wood that was her door, Caressa's stomach turned.

"There are a few people I would like you to meet," the Madame informed her. After a few moments, no one answered, and so the Madame pushed the door open.

A shorter man stood with his back to them, he was staring at a painting of a window. Madame Giry approached him and saw that he was deeply lost in his thoughts. She shook his shoulder lightly. He focused his eyes on her before turning to Caressa, "Oh, Antoinette! Pardon me, you and your little guest are most welcome. To what do I own the honour?"

To Caressa's mortification, she realized it was the man she had trampled in the hall the previous day.

His appearance fascinated her, he had a pair of deep gray eyes, the likes of which she had never seen; they reminded her of a the sky in a thunderstorm. Around his jaw, the first few days of a black beard had formed, but he wore it fashionably rather than unkept. His clothing was immaculate, although it had an air that lacked uncomfortable formality. He smiled when he saw her appraising him. The smile easily took up the width of his face, displaying wrinkles that betrayed him as quite older than he had first appeared. Caressa was delighted by the man, as he reminded the girl of her father.

"Antoinette, what is your companion's name? If you would care to introduce us?" He asked, glancing quickly between the Madame and Caressa.

"This is Mademoiselle Carolina Caressa Bucher: our leading soprano, and my pupil," Giry replied.

He smiled and mouthed "thank you" to Madame Giry.

Caressa giggled as the man took a step forward and held out his hand, she placed her hand in his amusedly, "Mademoiselle Carolina Caressa Bucher: soprano and ballerina, I am Monsieur Jean-Henri Louis Jekllyne: lyricist and wag." He politely kissed the back of her hand.

Caressa laughed heartily and replied, "It is a pleasure to properly meet you Monsieur Jean-Henri Lou—"

"Please, just Henri," he interrupted, then smiled again.

"Just Caressa then," she corrected.

"Is your partner about?" Madame Giry interjected.

Henri linked his arms through Caressa's and Madame Giry's, and steered them toward a door leading to an office. "He's always working, never has a minute to play. No offense to your opera house, but I'm hoping it stirs him into some form of spontaneity. You've got all these loose, beautiful creatures running about all the time." He gestured towards Caressa, "Look at this one, shiner the size of a fist, and she's still prettier than all of the girls in Rome."

Caressa had been flattered that he had complemented her, but was embarrassed when he mentioned her bruise.

A piano began playing softly in the office room.

"We had best wait until he finishes. I wouldn't want him to lose his masterpiece," Henri explained. "Antoinette, there's something I must have you look over. A few words I need an opinion on. Would you allow us one moment please, Caressa?" He asked considerately. She nodded and looked down at her feet.

When they turned away, Caressa looked back at the door where the music was coming from. It was a beautiful melody, both sweet and melancholy. She glanced back to Madame Giry and Henri, who were busy looking over some papers. In a moment of impulse, she turned the knob and silently opened the door.

A man whose hair shone a deep auburn in the dim lamplight sat at a piano with his back to her. She approached him slowly and saw that he played with his eyes closed. He smiled lifted at one corner of his mouth.

The moment she saw him, she found him as beautiful as the music falling from his fingers. His hands, unmatched in grace, moved effortlessly about the console. He seemed to be a rather tall man, which was suddenly a very important attribute to the girl who stood silently beside him.

Caressa felt ashamed when she stared at his mouth and considered kissing him. It was strange, for she had _never_ entertained such a thought before. _Keep to your studies_, she recalled the Madame having said. While she chastised herself, one of her hands absently reach toward his face his face. She realized with horror how close she was to him when he opened his eyes.

The man before shared Henri's remarkable eyes; she found herself once more reminded of a clouded sky. Caressa's heart hammered beneath her breast; she believed he was perfectly lovely. For the first time in her life, she understood the spark of attraction.

"_How long have you been here?"_ He asked in a smooth, foreign whisper.

Caressa could not understand what he said.

"_Have I dozed off into a dream then?"_

Once again she didn't understand.

The man reached a hand toward her when the door opened.

"Oh, it seems you've met the mademoiselle!" Henri called to the man at the piano. The man looked to the door then back at Caressa. He grinned.

"I suppose I have. Forgive me," he responded in French and she understood him. He then rose from the piano bench. Caressa was proven correct; he towered above her. It made her feel small, and she found she adored the feeling. "I am John Matri." He held out his hand. She froze, staring at his face.

"Caressa, silly girl, introduce yourself!" Madame Giry scolded, flustered by Caressa's display of poor manners.

"Oh, um. Forgive me. I'm just Caressa Bucher." She grimaced in another bout embarrassment. She forgot to take his hand, and he placed it back at his side.

"Mademoiselle Bucher." He bowed informally to the ballerina.

"John. Antoinette. Henri. All right, now that we're acquainted—it's a lovely day—let's make an occasion of it. Champagne for everyone." Henri grabbed a bottle and glasses. "John, be a dear brother and pour some out for everyone." John did as Henri instructed. The others sat in the lounge area. John handed a filled glass to Henri, Antoinette, and then Caressa while sitting beside her on a sofa. He went without.

"So, John, I hear your opera will be ready as soon as _Carmen_'s run is finally through?" Madame Giry posed, and took a sip of champagne.

"I have an idea that it will be, yes. Everything has gone smoothly so far," he explained with consideration.

After gulping down the champagne in her mouth, Caressa blurted out, "You've written an opera for the house?" She felt stupid for posing such a redundant question.

"Yes. Well, Henri and I have done. He puts wonderful words to my mediocre music," John laughed slightly.

"Oh, no. I heard the song you played before. It was beautiful, but so sad," Caressa attempted to assure him.

"Thank you. It is the last piece I've been working on for the opera. I could play it for you now." He seemed excited to reveal it to those in attendance, but he was not impatient.

"What a show-off! John, let the girl sit," Henri told him. He swatted at the air and rolled his eyes.

"Oh, I would so love to hear it. Truly, would you play it, please?" She begged, and he held his hand out to her.

"Come sit at the bench with me; turn the pages if you would be so kind." They moved to the bench and he began playing. Slowly, his eyes closed. She thought it was the strangest thing; he knew the intricate music by heart.

"John, what happens in the opera?" Caressa wondered.

"True love..." He replied definitively.

"I—"

"_The Beast_ is dying in the arms of the woman he loves. The only thing that can save him is her returning that love," he explained this with his eyes remaining closed. "She does, and he is returned to his true self, but in the end..." The music hit the peak of a joyful crescendo and came back down quickly into despair, "... She gives her life to save his."

"_The Beast?"_ She asked as John ended the song.

"Yes. An ill-mannered king, cursed to appear as ugly as his heart. The only way to regain his former appearance is to find the one woman his retched heart can love. It's inspired by the fairy tale by Le Prince de Beaumont. You know, _Beauty and the Beast_." He paused.

"I don't remember it well, I only read it as a child, I'm sorry," Caressa told him.

He kissed her hand, "No matter, thank you for turning the pages."

She held her hands together, and beamed at him. _He kissed me. Lord in Heaven, he kissed me._

"This is all very exciting, but perhaps Caressa and I should continue to rehearsal," Madame Giry announced.

"Yes, perhaps you should go..." Caressa whispered airily. She shook her head, and tried again, " I mean '_we,_' perhaps '_we_' should go."

"Well, if you must. Perhaps we'll come down to observe," John told her.

Madame Giry once again took Caressa's arm. "That would be delightful." The women exited and remained silent. Caressa was deep in thought while Giry contemplated her companion's sudden interest in the opposite sex. "You know, Caressa, you are very young. You mustn't rush attractions. I advise you to be content with your situation; be true to the Lord and he will guide you."

Caressa smiled coyly. "I have no idea what you are referencing, Madame. I am attentive to my religion and my virtue, but sometimes I feel the odds are against me." Madame Giry was taken aback by the sarcasm in Caressa's voice as they reached the company rehearsing for _Carmen_'s next performance.

After an awkward moment of people staring, Caressa took her place and everyone began to move again.

* * *

As they moved on to a different piece Caressa spotted Madame Giry giving John and Henri a tour around the stage.

"Hello again, Mademoiselle Bucher!" He called to her from the other side of the stage. She heard giggling swoons and a few of the girls mocking her. She blushed and then sprinted to the Madame's side.

"John, Henri, how fortunate we are that you came to view the company." She looked sweetly up at John.

"Well, we had said that we would. I apologize for calling to you, it was impolite of me." He stopped for a moment and then stated, "You're very beautiful."

"Excuse me?" She whispered in a delightedly put off manner.

"Your dancing is beautiful. Forgive me, I meant to say one thing and it came out completely wrong." He laughed a little nervously and quickly continued, "Not to say that you are not very beautiful."

She blushed. "Thank you."

"John, shall we continue on? Mademoiselle Bucher must practice," Madame Giry insisted, tugging at his arm.

"Yes, well, good day, mademoiselle." He nodded his head and she said nothing as he walked away.

A girl beside her exclaimed, "Get a look at his backside, girls!" And she did.

* * *

When rehearsal had ended, Monsieur Matri did not reappear. Caressa found her way to her room in a dream. She sat down at the vanity and glanced into the mirror.

"NO!" She gasped in alarm. "I've let him see me looking like this?" She had all but forgotten her brutally battered eye and cheek. Following a moment of self pity, she picked up a thin box filled with flesh tone stage makeup. It was the first time she would attempt to apply her own cosmetics. The makeup artists had always done her up for performances. After a firm swipe of a puff into the makeup box, she brushed it around her eye to conceal her bruises. When she was finished, she declared, "That will do, though it is a rather swollen." Thoughts of the night before tore through her mind, but she thrust them out. A feeling of sickness ebbed in her stomach.

Once again she looked at the mirror, careful to turn the side of her face that was not inflamed toward it a bit more. She attempted to smile seductively at herself, and then she pursed her lips into a pout. John's face entered her mind, and she saw one side of her mouth grin. When her eyes met their reflection she thought they appeared to have aged. She did not believe she looked old, only that there was a wisdom in her reflection's eyes that she could not find in herself.

John was on her mind as she searched through her feelings. He wandered there, and she found herself unable to focus on much beside him. She was affected by him in a way that she had never experienced before. She couldn't wait until the next time she would see him. It reminded her of the stagehand Matteo, and while she was flattered by him, she held no strong feelings for him.

John, however, _He said I was beautiful._ "Who, me? Beautiful? Really, you say the kindest things. . . You would like to take me to the Masquerade? Why, of course, I accept. . . You would like to dance? Here? Now?" She stood, lost in her daydream, and danced with abandon. "Oh, you are quite the dancer. . . Can you kiss me? How rude—please do!" She continued to daydream until the presence of another startled her. Erik's mask appeared to her in the mirror and she stumbled.

"Is this a new addition to the opera?" Erik asked from his chair by the door.

Caressa turned and glared at him. She was angry at him for showing himself, when the previous night he could not be bothered. As she glared, she sensed a weakness about him.

"How are you this afternoon?" He questioned, clearly understanding hostility from Caressa.

After this question, she realized he was ignorant to the previous night; he seemed almost jovial that day. _I can't tell him,_ she thought. _He would murder Heinrich. But would that be such a bad thing?_

"Caressa, are you all right?" He asked, but remained seated.

_It is best for lies to hold truth. _"Jacqueline told me something rather shocking, that's all," she muttered, then turned away and pretended to straighten the vanity.

"It was about Heinrich, and it had to do with last night, did it not?" He asked in a monotone manner.

Caressa looked into the mirror, first at her own reflection, then at Erik's. He knew something of Heinrich's obsession. She stared at his mask, knowing she was hiding her own face as well. While she distracted herself with his mask, he observed the cosmetics she had poorly applied on herself.

Erik stood shakily and made his way toward her. He laboured to kneel beside her and pulled her face against his chest. His hand stroked her hair and left cheek as she tried not to cry. The other hand dipped a kerchief in a basin of water on the vanity. She attempted to push him away when he wiped at her right eye with the cloth. "Stop, let me get a look at you." He took in her terribly bruised eye and put his head down. "Did I do this?" He asked, ashamed.

"No, no, of course you didn't, you foolish man." She tilted his head back up to look at her. "Erik, you must not do anything regrettable once I've told you this, but this was Heinrich's doing."

"I've allowed this to happen! I was going to warn you about him, and. . . Well, I cannot recall what happened." He continued to look ashamed.

"Shh. . . No, you didn't do this," she told him forcefully and held his face in her hands. "Don't you dare put this on yourself. If I catch you blaming yourself at all, I'll slap you." She leaned down and pressed her forehead to his. "Just look at you, are you ill? You haven't stopped shaking for a moment."

"Perhaps, my entire body is exhausted; I haven't truly slept in days," he admitted. He closed his eyes when he felt her thumb graze back and forth beneath his chin.

"I'd like to share my bed with you," Erik's eyes opened wide as she said this,"But Christophe is here, and it would be a bit crowded."

A knock at the door interrupted their conversation.

Caressa brushed Erik's cheek and told him to go. She got up and ran to the door, waiting for Erik to exit through the mirror. After he had, he continued down into his home. He tossed his mask across the floor, kicked off his boots, loosened his cravat, and fell asleep the moment he laid out in his casket. In his dreams, he ruthlessly tortured the man who had harmed his Caressa.

* * *

When she finally opened the door, she saw a tall man walking away. "Monsieur Matri, wait!"

He turned toward her. "I apologize for knocking without an invitation, I was afraid that you would find it redundant. Seeing as we are just across the hall from one another." He glanced at her door, "Ah, I see your door has already been set to rights."

"I hadn't noticed, actually." She had been so distracted when she returned that she hadn't considered it.

"If I am being nuisance, you should tell—" He began.

"You're a nuisance!" She cut in swiftly, but on her life she didn't know why. John looked down in dismay. "I was only joking," she recovered, kicking herself for losing such control of her senses. "I'm so sorry. John, you are most certainly not a nuisance to me." She patted his shoulder. "Ah, we French have a very bad a sense of humour." She flashed him the coy smile she had been practicing.

"So, you are all right then, after last night?" He asked.

"Oh no, you know about that as well?" She blushed.

"Of course, your brother and I broke in that door." He narrowed his eyes at her in slight confusion.

"You had a knife, you were shouting?" She wondered.

"No, that was your brother," he corrected her. "Quite right of him too."

"He screamed. Christophe screamed?" She ran a hand through her hair. "You were there? I don't remember." Her head shook and she whispered, "Wait. I was naked, you saw me naked."

"No, I covered you, and I swear on my life I did not look for a moment."

She considered him, and realized suddenly that if he had seen her naked, he would not be at her door now. He would never had thought of her again. "How long did you remain?"

"Until morning, it seemed you were unwilling to release me," he revealed. A slight blush flooded his face.

"I apologize, monsieur. It is unfortunate that you were a witness to that," she breathed awkwardly. Her cheeks flamed as well.

"Do not worry yourself over me. In fact, if there is ever any trouble, I'm across the hall. If you are in need, there's my door." His eyes, gray and wonderful, held a kindness she had scarcely known. "Right then, seeing as you are doing well, I should return to my opera. Good afternoon, Mademoiselle Bucher." He tipped his head in a slight bow and she curtsied deeper than was necessary in an attempt to show off her skills of grace.

"Afternoon, Monsieur Matri," she replied and started to close her door.

One last time he turned toward her. "A final matter." She held the door immediately. "Perhaps tomorrow, you might do me the honour of allowing me to escort you to your rehearsals," he asked with a look of practiced, cool indifference.

Another smile lifted her lips, and she pushed the door shut while answering, "Only if you call me Caressa."

From the other side of the door she heard him whisper, "Caressa."

* * *

Christophe Leroy made his way up to the room he shared with his sister, and snuck in quietly. He sat in a chair by the bed and removed his boots. "I can finnaly sleep," he muttered, splaying out on the bed.

"_YOU LITTLE FAKER!"_ Caressa suddenly shouted, bolting out of Erik's chair by the door.


	14. Broken

Reviews are most welcome.

* * *

**Chapter 14: Broken**

"Uh..." Christophe sputtered as he stumbling away from the bed.

"How dare you play at such a horrible pretend!" Caressa shouted and advanced on him. "Why? Why would you do such a terrible thing?"

He continued to move away from her, and remained silent.

"Is it me? Do you not want to speak to me?" She sat on the bed. "Please, say something! Let me hear you!"

"I never had to say anything before..." He whispered from the corner of the room he had backed into, "... But you still heard me." His voice was far less childish than she imagined it would be. He walked back to her and she knew that he truly had saved her the previous night.

"How long have you been able to..." Caressa trailed off and he joined her on the bed.

"I've always had the ability. Few things compelled the need." He glanced at her with guilt in his eyes. "Last night was one of those few occasions."

"I thought you were going to kill him, Christophe," Caressa admitted with a quaking tone.

"I think I should have," Christophe replied stonily.

"No! No. Harming others is wrong," she reasoned with him.

"I should have let him do that to you then?" Christophe asked skeptically.

"Of course not, it was defense within reason; protecting another may end in the harm of an attacker, but murder is never the answer. It is an evil, soulless act." Caressa embraced her brother. "What you did was right, and I love and thank you endlessly for it."

"He has escaped without punishment; you must go to the police. What if he should make another attempt?" He looked in his sister's eyes. "If I see him again, I shall not be responsible for my actions. You are the dearest thing in this world to me."

"As are you to me, my Great Defender. Please, let us think no more of this. Let's think of something that isn't entirely dreadful," she suggested.

"I'm far too tired, Caressa. I have worked all day with Matteo and all I can think about is sleep," he yawned and Caressa followed. Both decided to tuck in for the night.

After Christophe had fallen asleep Caressa pulled him tightly to her chest. She thanked God for letting her brother speak to her; she knew that it wasn't quite a miracle, but it wouldn't stop her from treating it as such. For an hour she held him that way, before releasing him and rolling to her side of the bed. She tried to think of anything else that had happened that day.

_John! Oh, after such a horrid day, a new path has been revealed to me_. And so that night she fell asleep thinking of John. Handsome, talented, and well-mannered John.

* * *

At the slamming of the door behind Christophe, Caressa awoke haggardly.

_I dearly hope that he isn't angry with me,_ She thought after recalling the previous night.

Then she remembered her agreement to walk with John and began to dress for rehearsal.

"No rest," she huffed through an unladylike yawn.

"Not for us wicked ones," Erik commented suddenly, while tightening her laces.

"Erik! You scared me half to death!" Caressa rebuked scornfully while shooting Erik a look of disdain. After assuring herself that he understood her anger, she turned silently away from him. "Now you decide to show yourself," she murmured.

"Such hostility, Caressa? My apologies for frightening you. However, this anger seems to be misplaced," he attempted to reason with her in a kindly voice.

"I am not angry, only over-tired," she lied. Erik continued to tighten her laces when she thought once more of John. "Erik, Christophe left earlier without telling me where he was headed. I fear he may get into trouble. I was wondering if you could find him and stop him from doing anything foolish?"

"As you wish. The moment I've finished your laces," he agreed considerately, still wondering if it was lack of sleep or anger that had caused her to chastise him.

"Oh, thank—" She began.

A knock at the door penetrated the room.

Caressa whipped around to look at the door, and then at Erik.

"Who's at the door?" Erik asked after viewing her shocked and guilty expression.

"Let's see, shall we?" Caressa replied innocently, but in an octave higher than she'd intended.

Erik frowned, confused at her behaviour. The knock came again, more hesitantly.

"Who's at the door?" Caressa repeated in a loud and awkward voice. She raised her eyebrows and shoulders in question at Erik.

"Uh, it's John... Matri. The man from across the hall, we met yesterday," he called back just as bizarrely as she had called to him. He received no reply. "You accepted my invitation to escort you this morning, Mademoiselle Bucher." His voice grew weak and disappointed.

A familiar dread crept into the pit of Erik's stomach and he glared at Caressa. She cowered before him and pleaded with her eyes for his leniency.

"Obviously, I was mistaken. I apologize, Mademoiselle Bucher," John said softly through the door a few moments later.

"No!" She shouted before she could stop herself. She pushed Erik's fury out of her mind. "John, wait, please, I'm dressing in my costume now."

"Quite right, I haven't finished," Erik whispered dangerously before turning her away from him and ripping the laces toward him.

She gasped and gulped while attempting not to scream. Again he tore at the laces and she thought she heard her ribs cracking. She accidentally sobbed, and when Caressa attempted to push him away, she felt him plant his knee against her lower back and thrust her into the bed post before she usually held as he tightened her laces.

"Mademoiselle Bucher?" John questioned in worry.

"I'll be—" Erik yanked back, "—Finished in a moment—" He wrenched again, "—My corset is proving difficult." With the last pull, she knew something had been broken.

Erik tied off the laces, and allowed Caressa to fasten her costume.

"Invite him inside," Erik instructed her.

"What?" She cried.

"Invite your Englishman inside. Now!" He grasped her arm tightly.

"Please, Erik, do no more. Not now, I can't take anymore," she pleaded. He gripped harder. "John!... Please, come inside," she invited, hiding her pain as best she could.

John opened the door slowly and first saw the shamed expression on Caressa's face and then the man in the mask standing beside her. He was immediately embarrassed.

"Bon jour," Erik offered flatly.

"Bon jour," John replied wearily. He glanced back toward the door and then at Caressa.

"John Matri? You are the English composer, yes? I had heard you were coming to _our_ opera house." Erik ran his hand down Caressa arm when he said "_our"_. "England did not receive your work well, I take it?"

"Erik," Caressa gasped.

John raised an eyebrow, "Actually... Monsieur, my operas have never left a seat unfilled, no matter the country they were performed in. Every publication I've heard of positively raved about _'my musical genius'_; and my many patrons appear to enjoy themselves. The Populaire' has been begging for years to premiere one of my operas." He paused, taking in Erik's silence. "Of course, I am most proud that I have been able to stay humble through it all." He glanced at Caressa and smiled. She beamed.

Erik knew there was truth to what John had said, and placed his hand on Caressa's lower back. "Then _we_ are quite privileged to have you with _us_."

"Thank you, Monsieur. I would enjoy continuing this conversation, but in my country it is considered impolite to converse with someone who has not been introduced to you by a commonly known party," John politely tried to edge out of speaking to the strange, masked man in front of him.

"I assure you, Monsieur Matri, there are few better commonly known than Caressa Bucher," Erik burned her with his spiteful tongue. She glared at him, hating him for acting like a child and saying such disgusting things.

"John," she said sweetly turning to him, "This is Erik, his only real function is to help me into my costume in the morning. I apologize for him. He forgets his place." She tugged her arm away from him and walked to John, "Let us go, before he says anything more to offend."

John held out his arm and turned without acknowledging Erik. Caressa accepted and looked back at her enraged master.

When they had closed the door, he upended the vanity brutally, shattering the mirror and splintering the wood. He could not understand where her sudden insolence had come from. He would not stand for anyone treating him in such a manner, let alone the one person he had begun to trust. He continued destroying the room in order to dispense his wrath.

* * *

Caressa nor John spoke as they walked. They looked at each other occasionally before snapping their heads forward again.

"Monsieur Matri, I truly apologize for his behaviour. I can only assume what you think—" Caressa began to say.

"And I apologize if before now you thought me a fool, but I feel I must set you right," he told her more harshly than she had heard him before.

She stopped in surprise to listen to him.

"You may believe me to be a foolish Englishman, and that you may play whatever games it is you play with me. But I very clearly understand the goings-on of men and women behind closed doors. You need not pretend with me that you and your... _'costumer'_ weren't... _together_ when I arrived." He looked at the teary-eyed girl before him for a moment and continued. "And you have not offended me, if that was what you intended. I thought you beautiful and sweet and nothing more. My pride is untouched and I trust you can find your own way to the stage, Mademoiselle Bucher."

She stared at him with wide eyes. "_'Goings-on'_?" She repeated.

His proud facade collapsed, "Oh God, you weren't doing anything with him."

"No," she cried.

"Oh, that was... that was entirely awful of me. Completely wrong, in every way. I am so—I apologize," he stammered and produced a handkerchief.

She took it and dabbed her eyes.

"Your customs here are different. Men tie women's laces; very eccentric, very Bohemian. You're much more open. I continue to make a fool of myself. I should have considered the other night when you were attacked. I'd forgotten that you've been dealt a dreadful hand lately. Antoinette assured me you were the best of her girls before we had even met. I felt myself being preyed upon and acted stupidly." He stopped and waited for Caressa to speak. He was mortified that he had abused her morality after hearing about what a virtuous girl she was from Madame Giry.

"I was so looking forward to walking with you." She laughed. He tilted his head in confusion as she continued, "Last night you were the last thing I thought of before I fell asleep." She looked up to see his face soften. "And when I woke up this morning, you were the second thing I thought of. And I was thinking of you while I dressed. Then you knocked on the door, and I was... beside myself in elation for a moment. That was directly before I hoped you didn't take offense to Erik helping me dress." She turned away, "Now you think me a—a—"

"Now I think of you to be entirely more comely than before," He smiled at her. "My misunderstanding has offended you. That has rightfully savaged what pride I have."

She smiled weakly back.

"Propriety would have me turn back toward my room, as the dog that I am. However, Paris has emboldened me," He paused. "Apologizing and begging as profoundly as I may, would you consider allowing me to escort you to the stage?" He held out his arm.

She saw it as an opportunity to move beyond the passed 15 minutes and take off from the moment she fell asleep.

"Of course, may we forgive each other and find friendship between us," she asked of him while taking his arm.

As they walked on toward the stage John asked before he could forget, "Why was he wearing a mask?"

* * *

When Erik felt he had sufficiently dismantled the room, he stopped and leveled himself. _I'll destroy him! How dare he! _He raged within.

"How could she act so..."

_'Like a whore?'_ The voice in his head suggested.

"Precisely," Erik agreed.

_'You'll lose her too, and then where will you be?'_ The Voice cackled at him.

"No, no, she—" He began.

_'__She What? She belongs to you?'_ It prodded him.

"She should be allowed to decide," He nodded at his conclusion. "I promised I wouldn't hurt her."

_'Yet you tried to crush her pretty little rib cage. How kind of you,'_ It laughed again.

"I was angry with them both. I couldn't think clearly. In a flash I was gripping the laces," Erik attempted to justify himself.

_'You've demolished her room in your temper-induced rage.'_ Erik shook his head at this. _'Yes you did, and the only way to stop her from ruining herself, is to keep her away from him. You know what is best for both of them, don't you?'_

"I do know," Erik nodded in agreement.

_'Stop this foolishness. Go, now!'_ The Voice instructed him.

Listening to the Voice, Erik bounded out of the room and toward the catwalks above the stage.

* * *

John sat in the third row of floor seats to watch the rehearsal. He listened closely to the orchestra and heard their passionate nuances that had been exactly what he required for his newest opera. He also listened closely to the singers and imagined he heard Carmen's voice singing for him. Caressa entranced him, he had forgotten the morning's events the moment she set foot on stage. Her voice was strange, so much different than what he had expected from her, almost—forcibly so. It was beautiful and exotic, and with everything in him he found her appealing.

She was graceful as she walked; hypnotic when she sang; when she simply stood silent she was intriguing as well. However, when Caressa began to dance... she was something he could not rightly put into words. He thought her to be the most perfectly incandescent being he'd ever seen. And then something horrible happened so haltingly quickly he nearly missed it. As she was in mid-pirouette, her face contorted and she fell to the ground with a resounding "thwump."

He started from his seat and bolted up to the stage as everyone crowded around her. He fought passed the throng to see if she was all right. Madame Giry was knelt at her side, holding her head.

"Check her ankle, Reinette!" Giry called.

The redhead carefully examined her, "It looks fine, Madame. It's not broken. It may be sprained, but I don't think so. What could be wrong?" Reinette rubbed her friend's foot.

"Help me carry her," Giry ordered the girl.

"Madame, if you'll allow it, I could assist you," John interjected.

"Be as gentle as you can be, everyone, clear a path. Stay here!" Giry dictated to the entire ensemble.

John gently lifted her to him, gradually taking the weight of her.

"This way, John." Giry led him back toward to dormitories.

As they walked he inhaled her scent, it was fine and untainted by strong French perfume.

"Here, lay her out here." Giry pointed her cane to a bed.

He followed her orders carefully. "Quite a lot of trouble with her lately?" John asked rhetorically.

"Monsieur Matri, you have no idea," she replied, not caring if his question was rhetorical or not. She began removing Caressa's costume.

John made to leave.

"I need you, in case I need to pin her down," Giry reasoned.

"Of course." He nodded.

"These laces are far too tight." Caressa wheezed as Giry undid her laces. Leaving her shift and pants on, Madame Giry braced herself. She rolled up Caressa's shift and choked in disgust when she saw the large bruises that had formed on a few of her ribs.

John absently stroked one of them in shock before remembering himself. "How?" He noticed as well a thick scar running from beneath her shift and into her pantalettes.

"I don't know, perhaps when she was attacked the other night, Heinrich..." She stopped. "Some of them must be broken."

"If it was the attacker from the other night, how could she have danced yesterday with such a hindrance?" John wondered. "Erik..." He whispered.

"What did you say?" Giry snapped.

"Erik, her costumer, I met him this morning. He tied the laces. She didn't seem fond—"

"THAT BASTARD!" The little woman shouted suddenly.

From above Erik winced. At the sight of Caressa's battered torso, he felt shame and bile rise inside himself. His anger only grew as John touched Caressa and betrayed him to Antoinette. Her scar was invisible from his distance.

"I'll throw him off the roof!" Giry swore to Caressa.

Caressa stirred, "Hmm."

"Did Erik do this to you?" Madame Giry demanded, pointing at her ribs.

Caressa looked down and saw the bruises. She pulled down her shift when she saw John standing at her bedside.

"He did, Madame," she admitted sheepishly.

"What happened?" Giry asked.

"He became angry when he found out that I had accepted—" She glanced shyly at John, "—an invitation to walk with Monsieur Matri."

"Why would he do this?" John asked her, still uncomprehending.

"Erik is a very envious man, even when he has no right to be," Giry explained. "Caressa, dear, wrap yourself, and allow John to escort you to his room. Until I can set Erik straight, stay there." She locked her eyes onto John, "Don't let her out of your sight!"

"Not for a moment, Antoinette," he promised her. Caressa pulled a blanket about her and stood to follow John out of the dormitories.

"ERIK, get down here!" Madame Giry shouted into the rafters. She turned and he was already behind her.

"You called?" He mused smugly.

She slapped him sharply across the face. "Never go near that girl again! Do you hear me, you vile monster? If you dare even look at her once more, I'll send a mob down into your dank little hovel and make certain they string you up from your own lasso!"

"She shouldn't have accepted his—"

Giry cracked him a second time. "Your childish excuses are wasted on me, you filthy creature! You are a man, act like one! Accept that not everyone you want wishes to be yours! Your abuse has gone too far! What if you had killed her? You're suffocating her, Erik." She closed her eyes. "No. No. This cannot go on any longer. You may threaten me with every power you possess, but I will not allow you to harm her again. Not after all that she has been through."

"You cannot stop me! She is mine!" He roared at her.

"Until you calm whatever wrath that is inside you, no one shall belong to you!" She corrected him harshly. "You were my friend once, please, understand that you must stay away from her. After a time, if you find peace or reason, or whatever is missing in your soul, you may see her again. But as of her father's death, I am her legal guardian, and I forbid you to have any contact with her. Good-day, Erik." Giry stalked out of the dormitories and once more toward the stage.

Erik remained, seething.

* * *

"Would you like a robe, Mademoiselle Bucher?" John asked after she had been seated on the sofa in the main room.

"Oh, yes, thank you." She accepted it and felt slightly more clothed.

"We can't seem to stop running into each other." He laughed.

"I'm putting you out, I'm sorry. You must need to work," Caressa empathized with him.

"The opera is mostly finished, Henri is the only one still working. I'll make adjustments, of course." He sat beside her.

Caressa grinned at him. "What you said earlier about your operas, was that true?"

"Every word, but I've never recounted it in that manner before." He blushed. "I must admit that I was making an attempt to impress you."

"You succeeded, I assure you."

John looked anxiously down at his hands, and asked, "Why would Erik be envious enough to harm you?"

"He's mad. He's not a man at all. He tries to own—" Her voice cut out. "I shouldn't tell you anything about him, it will only infuriate him."

"Please, Caressa, tell me, perhaps if I understood..." The look on her face stalled him, "... if you do not wish to tell me, then it is not my place to know. You are barely acquainted with me, I hardly expect you to explain any personal matters to me."

"I'm am deeply in your debt, monsieur. For the brave service you have done me, I feel inclined to explain anything you ask. You rescued my—well, you know what you rescued." She felt herself redden at nearly mentioning her virginity.

"It would be monstrous to ask for compensation after—perhaps it is best that we do not speak of this further," he concluded.

"I wholly agree, monsieur."

"Call me John, please, _monsieur_ is... well, I have enough people in France calling me _monsieur._" She heard a chuckle escape him, but sensed its lack of sincerity.

"Do you not enjoy France? Do you miss England?" She asked him, wondering if he did dislike France would it in turn mean that he disliked her.

"Uh, French is not my first... or second language. And though my brother, Henri, speaks English, it is not his first language either. It is difficult to always be speaking in a language you're not... uh, entirely fluent in. My own brother sometimes has trouble speaking with me," he revealed with a mixture of embarrassment and distress.

"Oh, I see. But I think you speak very good French! Indeed, your accent is a prominent one, but your words are quite fine." She bit her lip to keep from smiling at him. "Where do you come from in England, you must miss it?"

"I'm from London. I miss the English language, but even if London is home, I'm happy to be away. I was finished with it a long time ago," He admitted and began rubbing his sideburns in disquiet.

"_Perhaps it is best that we do not speak of this further_," she repeated to him kindly.

He really chuckled at her then, "I would call you cheeky, but I'm almost certain you wouldn't understand me."

"_CHEE-kee_?" She emulated slowly. "How silly a word. _Chee-kee._ Is it an insult?" She honestly wondered.

John laughed again, "No, no, it means you're bold. Wonderfully bold."

"I like that then. _Chee-kee_. What shall we do now?" She rubbed her ribs as she thought. When she looked toward John, he wasn't returning her gaze so she found herself surveying his features more closely. His long, thin nose enchanted her with its slight, rugged crook along the bridge. His eyes were half-closed as he stared downward. His sideburns delighted her, to her they were like arrows that pointed straight to his mouth. At the time she was examining him, his lips were pursed slightly into a smile. And she found herself, once again, imagining what the experience of kissing him would be like.

Her chest tightened, for the first time, in a way that was pleasing. She felt a cold wave throughout her body that somehow turned into heat within her lower stomach. A blush coloured her cheeks, and she realized neither John nor she had spoken for many minutes. Her eyes followed to where his were locked in place.

Caressa's search ended at her left calf and ankle that protruded from the robe John had provided. A happily surprised breath caught in her throat and their focus was slowly returned to one another's faces. She knew he could hear her erratic breaths, but could not find it inside herself to care.

A span of time, that neither party could recall, had passed before they heard the door open and Madame Giry announce her presence. She sat next to Caressa and recounted quietly what had transpired between herself and Erik.

The girl smiled and nodded, but had not heard one word of it.

She and John had not for a moment stopped staring.


	15. Wake

Reviews are most welcome.

* * *

**Chapter 15: Wake**

After Caressa's violent encounter with Erik, Madame Giry thought it best she be moved from her room immediately. This was even before she witnessed the carnage Erik had left behind when he had dismantled the room. It was utterly destroyed.

The bed's posts were lying strewn about the floor, having been used to smash several lamps, the vanity mirror and the window. The vanity's base too had been destroyed, along with the chair by the door. If not for the blood he had left in the pattern of knuckles on the wall, it may have appeared a tornado struck the room.

She first encountered the horror when she had brought a few stagehands up to gather Caressa's belongings. After a search, they had found very few items undamaged. Several of her gowns were torn apart. All of her books had been ripped out of their bindings. One of the two of her porcelain dolls, that she had been hiding beneath her bed, had its face bashed in; the other was missing. All of the items that Caressa had placed under her bed were no where to be found.

Madame Giry asked the stage hands to gather what they could that was salvageable and bring it into the suite of rooms across the hall. She went on ahead of them to inform Caressa of her plans.

* * *

When she entered into the sitting room, she found the silent duo of Caressa and John. She went immediately to Caressa's side and began explaining what had happened. It was evident that Caressa had not heard a word she said.

"Caressa! Have you been listening to me?" She scolded the girl and her head whipped around.

"No, I'm sorry, Madame." Caressa reddened in shame. "Please, tell me again."

"Your room has been positively razed." She solemnly stated.

"What?" Caressa shook her head. "Erik..."

"Who else would it have been?" Her instructor shot back coldly.

"Is it very bad?" Caressa wondered.

"It looks like a stampede of wild bulls ran throughout the place!" Madame Giry illustrated.

Caressa grew worried. "May I go see it?"

"Definitely not! I have spoken with Henri, and the spare room in this suite shall be fitted with a bedstead and wardrobe. You and Christophe shall stay there, and there shall be a pair of guards at the door." Madame Giry was not quite finished, "You will not leave these rooms without an escort, and that is final!"

Caressa poised herself to protest, but after assessing the orders more carefully, she found them rather agreeable, "I suppose, if that's what you think is best," She mused. "If Monsieur Matri does not protest," she asked him.

He shook his head and raised his hands in accession. "Of course you must stay. If it is what Madame Giry wishes."

"I'm having some men bring your things through now. I feel I should warn you, many things were ruined," Giry explained slowly.

"Did you tell them to look under my bed? All of my memories of my mother and father are in the boxes there," the frantic girl wondered.

"I am so very sorry, Caressa, there was nothing beneath the bed. Only this." Giry pulled Caressa's porcelain doll from beneath her arm and handed it to her.

"Oh—" Caressa held it delicately in her hands and stared at the jagged edges where the face had been broken away. Her breathing became laboured and John stood up.

"If you'll please excuse me, I'll leave you two some privacy," he said quickly before kindly leaving the room.

Caressa sobbed violently before the tears burst out from her eyes. Madame Giry grabbed hold of her and shushed her as she cried.

"Why would he steal my things? My most precious things?" She wailed.

"Because he is a monster that has nothing of his own, darling. That's why, shhh."

"Why does everyone seem to hurt me so? Why does God hate me?" Madame Giry stopped 'shushing' when she heard this.

"Carolina Caressa Bucher!" She took Caressa's jaw in her hand. "God does not hate you. He loves you more than you can imagine. It is how you face these trials while still staying true to Him that He shows you. Erik has no faith in God, he has abandon Him. Perhaps that is why Erik is the way he is. He worships only himself!" Madame Giry released her jaw and hugged her again.

"What about Heinrich?" Caressa mumbled.

"What do mean, child?"

"Why did God allow him to hurt me?" She begged to know.

"God sent Christophe and John to save you, did he not?"

Caressa nodded. "He did." Her sobs stopped and she sat up straight. "He did."

There was a knock at the door. "We've collected some things, Madame!" A man called.

"Bring them in." Madame Giry stood and escorted the men into the spare room.

John came in with the stagehands, carrying a box of garments that could be repaired. After dropping it off in the spare room, he strode toward Caressa.

"I apologize for all of this dreadful business. Until a suitable bedstead can be brought through, I insist you and your brother stay in my bedroom," John told her rather finally.

"Where shall you stay?" Caressa wondered.

"Here on the sofa should suit me quite well," he assured her.

"I cannot take your room," she responded, not wanting to put him out further.

"I've already explained that I insist—"

"CARESSA!" Christophe shouted as he burst into the room. He ran to her and grabbed her by the arms. "What's happened? Are you all right? Is it Heinrich?"

"Everything is fine," Caressa comforted him. Christophe embraced her and she gasped. "Perhaps apart from a few broken ribs, _everything is fine_."

"_Broken ribs_? Tell me what happened!" He demanded.

"It was Erik—"

"Your tutor?" He asked, surprised.

"I thought he was your costumer," John interjected.

"Oh, Christophe, one moment you're mute, the next you wont close your mouth..." Caressa mumbled. "Erik was both," she explained.

"Shall I go after him?" Christophe wondered.

"NO!" She pulled Christophe down to sit with her on the sofa. "There is no need, Madame Giry is taking care of it." She kissed her brother's head before she began again. "We will be staying in that room." She pointed toward the door where the stage hands were filing out. "Tonight, however, Monsieur Matri has kindly offered us his."

Christophe looked up at him and smiled earnestly. "Thank you, Monsieur."

Caressa smiled at him as well. "Yes, thank you."

* * *

Later on that night Caressa and Christophe bid their hosts goodnight and enclosed themselves in the bedroom of John Matri.

Christophe immediately began to voice his suspicions, "I know Monsieur Matri helped me with Heinrich the other night, but how do we know we can trust him? Or Henri for that matter?"

"Madame Giry has known both of them for a very long time," she reasoned.

"We've both known Heinrich our entire lives, that didn't stop him! Besides... I've noticed that there is something peculiar about the way Monsieur Matri looks at you," Christophe admitted.

"Really!" Caressa asked excitedly.

Her brother thought for a moment, "You want for him to look at you strangely?"

"Well, I—Oh, forget it. Let's tuck in," she suggested.

Brother and sister climbed onto the new bed and noticed how much larger it was than the one they shared. The sheets were softer, and the mattress more comfortable. Caressa pulled the covers overtop of them. She laid her head against the pillow and immediately she could smell John as if he were lying beside her. Her hands caressed the silken sheets lazily until Christophe asked her an unexpected question.

"What time is it?"

"Hmmm." She turned over to look at the fireplace clock. "It's 11:38."

"Thank you," he replied, and then he was silent.

Caressa tried with little success to sleep, but she couldn't help feel uneasy. Christophe was right, who could they trust?_ We've both known Heinrich our entire lives, that didn't stop him!_ She heard over and over within her head. She turned toward her little brother. _How can I trust you? You've been lying to me as well._

After an hour or so, she crept out of the bed and lit a lamp so that it was barely glowing. She toured John's room, and found that it was most interesting. Against one wall there was a desk piled with letters, she saw there must have been almost a hundred of them. They were all bound with thin cord and neatly stacked. She felt curiosity get the better of her and she picked one up.

It was addressed to John at the Populaire, the return address was 16 Rue Auber, 75009 Paris. Caressa found that strange, that was hardly more than a block from the Populaire. She looked through a few more; they were all from the same sender, a monsieur Victoir Sabourin. When she read the 12th envelope, it was posted to John, but in Rome. Most of the letters after that were also posted to Rome, and she found a few more that were addressed to Germany. Several of the oldest looking envelopes were addressed to London. _His home._ She returned the letters to the stacks without opening a single envelope; she was curious, but wanted to keep exploring.

She pulled open his wardrobe and found every piece of his clothing to be immaculate. He had dozens of evening gloves and walking gloves. He had 8 top hats. He had one white suit with tan accents that she became very attached to. There was a box lying at the bottom of the wardrobe, Caressa looked about for a moment before bending down to see what was inside. She lifted the top a bit and could see it was a garment of some sort. After setting down the lamp, she pulled the box out and set it down quietly in front of her. She knelt down and lifted the top off of the box, she picked the lamp up again and brought it closer.

In the box there lie a magnificently embroidered bridal gown. Caressa's eyes darted toward the door in confusion. _Why does he have a wedding gown in his wardrobe?_ She looked back just in time to see a drop of oil rolling off of the lamp. Caressa thrust her hand out to protect the gown and caught the hot oil on her wrist. She hissed and decided to put the box back. She closed the wardrobe.

On the next wall she found shelves filled with hundreds of books. The first she pulled out was _The Count of Monte Cristo _by Alexander Dumas. She realized upon opening it that it was in English. Next, she pulled out a large book with no lettering on the spine. It was a photographic album. The first photo was a close-up portrait of a pretty, young, fair-haired girl Caressa did not recognize. On the page opposite was a close-up portrait of John, but he was at least 10 years younger.

Caressa knew from the time she had her photograph taken that it was difficult to smile throughout the exposure. Her photo had to be done twice, because she didn't want to listen the first time. Apparently John hadn't been listening either. There was a small smile escaping from the side of his mouth, and his eyes were shining with happiness. He looked more handsome than in her dreams. She glanced at the bed to make sure Christophe was asleep and then looked at the photograph quickly before placing her lips lightly against the figure's cheek.

She turned the page and felt the pit of her stomach grow hot and her cheeks burn. The pretty girl and John were sitting next to each other in a wedding portrait. Beneath the photograph it read: 'John Alphon & Elizabeth Lucille Matri: 1860'.

_He's married?_ Caressa thought, and her chest felt as if Erik was crushing it once more. Again, she turned the page, but there was only a picture of a house. The caption read: 'Our House in London'. It was pretty, with a porch and turret room, but not overlarge. There was nothing on the opposite page, so she flipped again. There was nothing on the next page. Or the next. Or the next. After those four photographs... It was empty.

Caressa slowly began to feel that she understood why it was so empty. Her assumption was infinitely more dreadful than John being married. In fact, she sorrowfully believed the opposite to be true. John was a widower. She shut the album and replaced it amongst the books. _How do I know if she's passed away? Maybe he doesn't keep many photos. _She told herself.

Caressa inspected Christophe and saw that he was asleep, then she made for the door. She opened and closed it as quietly as she could. John was sleeping on the sofa silently. She approached him slowly and knelt down beside him. Caressa pulled his left hand out from under his right and held it close to the lamp. No ring. No whitened flesh from where a ring may have been. All signs pointed to widower. Caressa closed her eyes in a feeling of accomplished shame.

"I'm not entirely certain of your agenda, but I'll ask you kindly not to set my fingers aflame, mademoiselle," John's voice laughed from above her. She looked up at him. "I may need them."

"I'm sorry, John." She released his hand and he sat up.

"What are you doing out here—and with my hand no less?" He asked her after he let out a tired groan.

"Well, I couldn't sleep and I just wanted to say thank you again. I didn't want to frighten you," she lied sheepishly.

"Ah, I see. Once more I will explain that you are most welcome, Caressa. I'm sorry the room does not suit you," he added.

"Oh, no, it does. It's only that I find it difficult to sleep in a new room on the first night. No surprises there." Caressa noticed she was kneeling on the floor and moved to sit beside John. "You have quite a collection of books... I noticed them before I tried to sleep."

"Do you enjoy reading?" He asked her.

"Oh yes, it is one of my greatest pleasures," she delighted in admitting to him.

"You may borrow whatever you like from my small library." He offered.

"But all of your books are in English. I can't read them at all," she reminded the generous man before her.

"That is true, isn't it? Perhaps you should have lessons while you are staying in the spare room? Perhaps my French shall improve?" He looked down at her. "Is that something that would interest you?"

"Very much!" Caressa exclaimed. She had to look up at him when they were sitting there and it reminded her of how very tall he was. She felt that her body was preparing itself to swoon, so she excused herself quickly.

When she was back in John's room, she climbed up onto the bed and cuddled close to her brother.

"What time is it?" Christophe asked.

She turned over and glanced at the clock, "It's 1:26."

"Caressa?" He whispered.

"What is it, Christophe?" She demanded a bit harshly.

"Bonne anniversaire."

Caressa giggled, and kissed him on the cheek, "I forgot! Oh, thank you!"

* * *

At that very moment, Erik lie beneath the Populaire, splayed out in his casket. A syringe which had only moments ago been filled with morphine tumbled from the fingers of his left hand, and his right hand delicately held a photograph of Caressa's mother. He was already aware of Madame Giry's plans to safeguard his pupil.

Had he not been ashamed of himself, he may have gone directly to fetch Caressa, maiming whoever got in his way. However, the Phantom of the Opera, the scourge of the Populaire _was_ ashamed by his actions. He recalled Caressa's battered torso and felt the bile within him once more. His mind began to consider Antoinette's words, however difficult they were to believe.

"What have I done?" He asked the darkness. He recalled his promise to a sleeping Caressa that he would never harm her. "She has every right to despise me."

_Of course, of course, _The Voice in his head agreed.

"No, not you!" Erik spoke softly while sitting up.

_Old friends are the best friends, Erik,_ It cozened him._ You're a monster, a creature born from hellfire. Are you surprised that you hurt her?_

"No—Yes, I am! I promised her!" He shouted.

_The promise of a monster is meaningless, Erik. I see that, why can't you?_ The Voice queried.

Erik continued to shout, "You can't see anything! You're only a voice in my head!"

_I can see that she belongs to you, Erik. I can see that you are trying with all of your might not to go up and steal her away in the night. I can see your thoughts more clearly than you can think them. Your dreams are my dreams as well. Your memories are my memories, and they are as dear to me as they are dreadful to you. Do you know why? Do you! _The Voice pressed on.

"Why?" Erik choked.

_Because I have learned from your mistakes, you pitiful little man._ The Voice quieted before speaking again, _If I had been pulling her laces, I wouldn't have stopped until blood poured from her mouth._

Erik leapt from his casket and began screaming for the Voice to silence itself. He found himself crying and wailing, and gripping at his hair in futility.

_If I had been you, Erik, I would have had her a long time ago. I would have stopped her childish piety in its tracks! _It raged on within him.

"No, no, no... stop putting these visions in my head!" He sobbed.

The Voice would not be persuaded, _But they are your visions—every single night in your dreams!_

"Dreams, dreams, but never to be acted upon. Because I promised her... I promised her." Erik was on his knees, having swiftly exhausted himself.

_Yet you have harmed her... Why?_ The Voice asked without malice.

"I know it was wrong, but I was so angry that I couldn't contain myself. She didn't deserve that, not at all," he attempted to explain.

_No, she didn't. Would a monster realize his mistake?_ It wondered.

"No..." Erik offered the Voice, confused.

_No, a monster would have killed her, or kidnapped her. You chose neither of those paths. You chose to let her go. Is that not what a good man would do? Have you not made this choice before?_ Somehow, the Voice had changed, and become more advisory.

"Yes, I made the decision and I fear ever having to make it again, Voice!" Erik admitted, he felt a hope inside himself as the Voice he heard became less malicious.

_You have grown and changed from the man that you were. Possessions may be mended; hearts, hearts are not so simply dealt with. People rarely forgive broken hearts. Her heart has been strained, but that is all. I recommend taking Madame Giry's order of restraint under advisement,_ The Voice insisted lightheartedly.

"You, I thought you were trying to kill me..." Erik whispered to himself.

_No, old friend, I just needed to get your attention._

"I see..." Erik mumbled before walking back to his casket.

_Oh, and Erik?... _The Voice paused,_ Give her back her things._

Caressa and Christophe awoke to a knock at the door of John's room.

"Wake up, Caressa, you must get down to the infirmary, I've sent for a doctor," Madame Giry instructed as she opened the door slightly. Caressa winced and felt herself grow cold.

After pulling on her robe, Caressa followed Madame Giry from the room. She heard John playing the piano in the study and pulled herself back a bit. "Madame, might I tell Monsieur Matri and Monsieur Jekllyne good morning? It seems only polite." She smiled sweetly at her teacher.

"Go ahead then, silly girl," Giry laughed at her ward's thin rouse.

Caressa walked to the door of the study, knocked quietly and went inside. John was sitting at the piano, with Henri standing beside him lightly singing a libretto that might fit the piece. Henri saw her immediately and beamed warmly in his way that she found quite fatherly. John had his eyes closed, concentrating on the marriage of the words and music. They continued until John stopped playing and quietly declared that one of Henri's phrases didn't fit.

"And what do you think, Caressa? Are my phrases so unfitting as my brother says?" Henri wondered playfully.

John turned around to look at her, but said nothing, waiting for her reply.

"I am not familiar with the music or the libretto, but I believe I should trust anything that your brother might tell me." She flashed John her well-practiced coy smile and blushed.

"What if I should tell you that life is only a dream?" John challenged her.

"Then I should be very sad to have discovered such a dreadful truth," she answered him.

"I don't think I could find it in me to say a word to sadden you, Mademoiselle Bucher." John looked down and coughed lightly. He then looked up at his brother sheepishly. There was embarrassment in his eyes at having flirted so openly before him.

"I came in to bid you farewell, I'm going down to the infirmary with Madame Giry. Please, continue." She watched them bow their heads to her before backing out of the room and following Madame Giry.

It was a well known fact at the Populaire, to the ballet rats most of all, that Caressa Bucher hated physicians. No one ever quite knew why, and they assumed it was out of some sense of propriety, but what they did know was that she loathed them. Once, when it seemed she may have broken her left wrist slipping on ice during an outing, she refused to have a doctor look at it. She claimed it was fine, but she couldn't hold anything with it for months. From the day she slipped, her wrist often clicked when she moved it.

So, as she followed Madame Giry, she attempted to claim that her ribs were simply bruised; that it was: "Nothing to worry about, Madame."

"Come now, this doctor was very highly recommended. He isn't a second rate doctor from Lille," Giry assured her kindly.

"He's not cutting me open, Madame. You must agree to that," The girl cried worriedly. "It's my birthday, I'd hate to die on my birthday."

"So it is, and we shall celebrate once he's had a look at you," Giry stopped to open the door to the infirmary. "And Caressa, you're not going to die."

They walked in together, and Caressa saw the doctor. He was the only person in the room. It had been added as a precaution after the demise of the first opera house. There were ten cots in the room. He was seated at the one farthest from the door. She walked slowly toward him and saw that while he was middle-aged His face was stern, but it warmed as she came closer. He pushed his spectacles up his nose. She could not see any sharp objects about him, but wondered if he kept them in his coat.

"Mademoiselle Bucher, I hear you've had an unfortunate experience with a corset. You're afraid some ribs have been damaged, is this correct?" The doctor asked conversationally.

Caressa breathed deeply, but said nothing.

"Yes, doctor," Madame Giry stepped in.

"Right, sit down here." He indicated the bed.

She did as he instructed.

"Open your robe, please."

She followed his instructions.

"Now, I'm going to situate your robe over your legs, and then you shall raise your shift to just below your chest," The doctor informed her.

He covered her and she followed his instructions. His eyes wandered over her scar. He brought his hands toward her slowly and then felt along it.

"Her scar has nothing to do with her ribs, doctor," Madame Giry explained harshly.

"Quite right, but I'm curious—"

"Curiosity kills doctors as well as cats," Giry threatened.

He began feeling along her rib cage and asked her what the pain felt like as she gasped and choked through the agony. With each touch she felt as if she were being smashed against the bed post all over again.

"Well, there are both good and bad findings here. Good: only one rib feels assuredly broken. Bad: a few of the others seem to be bruised." He looked at Caressa and began again, "What about your eye, what's happened there? Walked into a door, I suppose," he shot rather snidely at Madame Giry.

"No, I was attacked," Caressa told him boldly.

"By whom?" The doctor asked in deep concern.

"Please, doctor, her eye will mend itself," Giry cut in.

"By someone I loved very much for a very long time. Doctor... I have wondered something and tried to hide in the darkest corner of myself..." Caressa pulled her robe about her.

"What is it, child?" The doctor asked. He looked up at Madame Giry, she too seemed intrigued by whatever the girl's secret may have been.

"He tried to..." She was teary and beckoned Madame Giry closer to her. All the while she considered if what she was going to ask was all right. It had been hidden within her from the night of the attack and she felt she needed to know. No matter how fearful she was of what the doctor might do to her.

The doctor watched as the girl whispered something to her guardian. She whimpered in disgrace. Giry then stood up and strode next to him.

She began quietly, "Caressa was attacked a few days ago by her step brother. She is wondering if you would be able to deduce whether or not she is still... Intact?"

"Oh, dear... Yes, of course, if that is what she wishes," he responded somberly. He turned to Caressa, "Let me just fetch some instruments."

Caressa started to sob.

* * *

When girl and guardian ventured back toward the suite, neither spoke a word. Madame Giry was as calm and composed as she had ever been. Caressa could feel a sense of embarrassment, but every few steps a mad smile broke out across her face. She felt what she had learned was meant to be her first birthday present of the day. While the doctor's inspection had been rather repulsive, the grand news it had delivered her had made it worth its awful nature.

"Stop your grinning, child!" Madame Giry ordered before they entered the suite. "Come into the spare room quickly, I'll help you change."

Caressa saw there was an unbroken doll sitting on her bed and spun around to look at Madame Giry, "I can do it myself! Without a corset, it's a rather simple operation!" She slammed the door shut. "I'll be out in a few minutes!" She scrambled over to the small bed and grabbed the porcelain doll... It was unharmed.

She glanced around the room cautiously, searching for floor length mirrors, but found none.

"Erik?..." She called softly to the room.

She heard nothing. Not a rustling of fabric from within the wall. Not a breath in the shadows.

"Erik?" She called slightly louder.

No one replied.

"Well, thank you." She situated the doll where Madame Giry would not find it and entered back into the sitting room.

"You are most welcome," a voice whispered from beneath the floorboards.


	16. For Meg

Reviews are most welcome.

* * *

**Chapter 16: For Meg**

It was not with a light heart that Erik had realized the damage he had caused to his relationship with Caressa. Any trust that he had gained during their last few months together had been completely demolished at his hand. He attempted to pity himself; to say "Poor, poor Erik" when he looked into the mirror. However, the Voice in the back of his mind sourly assisted him in recalling that it was indeed "Poor, poor Caressa" who had suffered.

He could not keep the images of her mangled body from his mind, or the shame and pain that he had caused her. He did not doubt that he had broken a few of her ribs, and he knew all too well how sensitive Caressa was to wearing corsets. He felt he had lost Caressa in much the same manner in which he had lost Christine, but he could not put as much blame upon John Matri as he could with Raoul de Chagny.

Erik found solace and hope in the two small words Caressa had called out when she found her porcelain doll safely placed a top her new bed. Her _Thank you_, ran softly through his head. _All is not lost,_ he assured himself.

As he reclined within his coffin, he realized that the reparations he would have to make to Caressa would be great. He could not goad her with lies about being her angel. No small amount of fear rose in his heart when he thought of Caressa living within the quarters of another man, but he was determined to obey Madame Giry's orders. _Matri is nothing to Caressa, and hardly competition for her affections—surely she was foolish and accepted his invitation only to be polite,_ Erik reasoned this to himself, unaware of Caressa and John's previous interactions.

These thoughts only served to cause him more distress; though he thought he was wise to Antoinette Giry's scheme. Antoinette would not push Caressa toward John, she would never be so spiteful. He also knew that Antoinette had selfish motives in keeping Caressa without attachment as well; Caressa was her prized pupil and she reflected the Madame's legacy beautifully. Her continued employment at the Populaire was directly linked to the performance her little rats displayed. Without Caressa, Antoinette would be turned out on the street, and her child along with her.

"Marguerite—" Erik sat up in his coffin as he began to develop a plan. Surely Meg knew what was going on above his head. Though he had made a promise years before to stay away from her, he was well aware of her interest in the Opera Ghost. She had often begged Christine to tell her more about him while they were both young girls, and she had questioned her mother endlessly as well. Both refused to answer most of her questions. Meg would certainly have the information he wanted, but he was remiss to pull back the veil between the two of them. She did not know the worst of his crimes, though after the Don Juan disaster her mother no longer shielded her from the lighter truths about him.

_Meg is a mentor and friend to Caressa, she is my best hope,_ he decided.

Erik immediately drafted a letter to be brought up to Meg Giry's room. He dressed finely and made his way up into the opera house. He was well aware that it was unforgivable to breach into Meg Giry's life after the promise he had made to Antoinette. Of course, he did not mean her any ill will, but if her mother discovered that he attempted to meet with her, he was sure that she would have him bludgeoned to death. Which would not be entirely undeserved.

* * *

When he entered Meg's room using his skeleton key and crossed the threshold, (something he was not particularly accustomed to) he found the brightly painted room of a little girl. The decor was remarkably pink and he was taken aback. He had always thought of Meg Giry as an earthy and understated young woman, he found her intelligent and soft spoken, but her room quite literally painted a different picture. What wasn't pink was pastel-coloured, and every inch of the shelves about her room were covered in music boxes; each box contained a revolving ballerina. It was how he would imagine the room of a spoiled 10-year-old. He gently wedged the letter into the mirror of her vanity, and continued to peruse Meg's room.

He was not surprised to find a cache of hidden romantic novels underneath her bed, and he found she had used the cards of several men as bookmarks. Erik sensed that Meg was more of a naughty girl than she let on, and while he tried to—he could not help himself from probing deeper. He was rewarded immediately when he lifted a pillow from the bed and a man's glove dropped onto the floor. He picked it up by the middle finger and saw the letters "H.L." monogrammed into the wrist. He replaced the glove and exited into the room across the hall from Meg's. Practice had finished and she would most likely return to her suite to change.

Erik did not have to wait long before he heard footsteps approaching in the hallway. It was both Meg and Antoinette Giry.

He heard Antoinette tell Meg in a motherly tone, "Really Meg, you're taking Caressa's misfortunes upon yourself. I know you spoke to her just before it happened, but it doesn't mean you could have stopped it. You need to take care of yourself, my sweet girl." He heard Antoinette kiss her daughter. "You have been sad these past few months. The students sense your melancholy, and it does not reflect well in them. Please, be happy, darling." He heard another kiss, and then the sound of Antoinette's footsteps receding down the hallway.

"I'll try, mama," Meg whispered in response and she unlocked her door. She entered into the pink mess the manager's called a room. How Meg hated that room; it was grossly adorned with dozens of little boxes containing tiny versions of her. They had come from admirers over the years, and as she received them her mother would place them on the shelves. She knew her mother would not mind if she took them down, but she thought her mother deserved an eternal little girl. Christine had been tempted and taken away, but Meg would remain with her mother always. She gave up her own happiness to be her mother's constant companion. Still, she despised the pink.

She removed her ballet uniform and draped herself in a white satin robe. When she went to the mirror to take down her hair, she saw Erik's letter. Her eyes grew wide in excitement and apprehension as she tore the letter open. She had always hoped that one day she would receive a note from the Phantom; Christine and her mother had been the recipients of so many letters that she had often grown jealous.

She unfolded the stationary inside and read:

"Dear Mademoiselle Giry,

I understand that we have not been formally acquainted before this day, but I would like to set aside that fact to ask an audience with you. As of late I have fallen out of touch with the life within the Opera Populaire. All I ask is that you speak with me. There are no words to express the civility with which I approach you. I beg that you see I mean you no harm in any regard.

With respect,

~O.G.

Post Scriptum— I feel compelled to ask that you keep this request and any of our interactions from your mother's knowledge. I assume you understand our latest quarrel."

Meg was confused by his sudden interest, but understood that he would ask about Caressa's well being. She knew well enough that he may be lurking somewhere in her room. She went to the closet and opened it slowly, but discovered nothing. Then she bent to look beneath her bed; as she did so a knock came at the door and she cracked her head sharply against the bed frame. Still rubbing her head, she opened the door cautiously and gasped in awe.

The Phantom of the Opera stood not a foot away from her. Every dream she had ever had that included the Phantom flooded her into mind; Christine had not been the only opera house resident haunted by the Ghost. The Phantom was a fearsome figure in her dreams, but the man before her was attempting something like a smile.

"Mademoiselle Giry, I apologize for my abruptness, but I am not always a patient man. If you are not engaged for the next hour or so, I would like to request an audience with you." He bowed before her.

Meg remained shocked by his presence, but managed a simple, "Yes, monsieur."

"Splendid," he remarked as he swept passed her into the room. Meg closed the door. "A locked door would be greatly appreciated," Erik asked of her. She complied and walked to a set of stuffed chairs near the window.

"Please sit, monsieur," Meg requested as she sat down herself. "It is an honour to entertain you, but please inform me as to the nature of your visit?"

Erik sat across from her and situated himself before he replied, "I seek conversation. I wish to inquire about your well-being. How are you, Mademoiselle Giry?"

Meg did not know the Phantom was capable of pleasantries. She knew very well the nature of his visitation, but she did not expect him to be such a gentleman. "I am quite well, monsieur. Recent events have put many occupants of the opera house ill at ease, but I am both healthy and sound currently. How are you, Monsieur—"

"_Erik _will be fine, please." He smiled at her surprise. "I have made a very grievous mistake as of late. Every moment I am filled with regret and fear that I have caused irreparable damage to many of my relationships. But I am healthy and sound as well." He became quiet, and neither party could think of how to proceed.

"Would you care for tea or coffee, Erik? I could fetch something," Meg offered, looking toward the door.

"No, thank you. I much prefer wine," as he told her this, he revealed a bottle from within his coat. "A pair of glasses, perhaps?"

She rose, went to her armoire and removed two glasses from the top cupboard. She blinked her eyes rapidly before turning back; it was too surreal that she should be calmly drinking wine with the Opera Ghost.

Erik poured the wine and handed Meg a glass as she reclaimed her seat.

"It is rare that I have such a civil conversation. I sense that you believe me." Meg nodded in agreement. "There are few people who I may call upon for company, but I sincerely hope that I may visit you again once our interlude has been concluded."

"Of course, Erik." Meg set her glass down. "Though I would hope the next time you call on me that you would not expect such a foolish girl as you have today."

It was Erik's turn to be surprised.

"You don't need to use pleasantries and declarations of friendship to ask after Caressa. If you wish me to be your medium to her, then ask it straight out. Don't play at anything more," Meg clucked her tongue and resumed drinking her wine. "The wine was a fine decision though, I must admit."

"I had never thought you would be so blunt, Mademoiselle Giry." Erik was put off by the manner in which she disarmed his ploys. "I have always known you were an intelligent young woman, perhaps I chose the wrong approach."

Meg chuckled deeply, "Just be honest; you wont fool me. I know you're not my father or an angel. By the way, Caressa seems to be doing quite well considering."

He was stung by her words, and felt a pang in his heart when she said "my father or an angel." Then he responded, "Thank you for informing me. I know what I have done is reprehensible and there is no reason to hope I should ever be forgiven." Erik was ashamed and felt some relief at being able to confide in Meg.

When she spoke next, he was less relieved, "Your regret is quite palpable. It seems strange that you regret breaking the rib of a beautiful girl over murdering several men. But I am no judge of good character as you may notice after our conversation." There was a cynical tone to Meg's voice that Erik nearly found offensive. "I think you take too much credit for Caressa's misfortunes. What is a broken rib when compared to Heinrich's offense? Especially in Caressa's eyes."

"He merely struck her; I've broken her bones. In what way have I been more kind than he?" Erik was confused, but immediately realized after viewing Meg's exasperation that there was something important that he had not before been privy to.

"What do you think happened three days ago? I knew you weren't there when it happened, but surely she told you. I thought it had added to your rage when you destroyed her bedroom."

"I—She didn't actually tell me what happened. He bruised her face. I thought she confronted him about something she had seen and he struck her in anger." Erik looked intensely at Meg and spoke in a very stern manner, "Did something else happen that night?"

"Without knowing, monsieur, you have tapped a well of information on this particular topic." Meg poured herself more wine before continuing. "Caressa nor my mother previously knew the true nature of Heinrich, but I am well experienced."

"You were lovers?" Erik asked directly, feeling his stomach turn in a strange manner.

Meg grinned at him over her wine glass, "No, monsieur, we were engaged to be married."

"Pardon—"

"I have known Heinrich Leroy since Caressa first came here in 1873. We were both two and twenty years old and he was keen to know of his sister's progress. It was minor flirtations for a few years, then his affections grew more amorous." Meg sighed deeply. "I loved him with every fiber of my girlish heart; I ignored every other suitor that came along—but that is not important now. Several months ago I ended our relationship as I discovered something disturbing about him. It was something that I see now I should not have kept to myself." She took a long sip of wine. "It is still difficult to talk about, but it is my payment for doing nothing to prevent the events of the other night. I could never tell my mother this, for it is too shameful, but I cannot allow you to believe Caressa's unhappiness is your fault alone."

Erik remained silent, growing uneasy; he had an inkling as to what might come next.

"Heinrich asked me to marry him 14 months ago." Meg brought the glass to her lips after this admittance, but it was empty. She set it down and stared at her hands. "I accepted him, naturally and I was all excitement for about 12 hours. But then I discovered the creature hiding behind that handsome face. He brought me to his apartments above the music shop downtown. The moment he locked the door behind us, I saw the kindness he had always displayed melt away. He was like an animal, but I will not say that he forced himself on me. Many whorish girls regret liaisons and make accusations, but I was willful in our affair—though it would only be for that one night." Darkness settled over the ballerina before him and her despair penetrated her silence. "At the end of our intercourse he whispered something to me that laid waste to any love I carried for him:—

"Caressa."

"Caressa." Erik and Meg spoke the girl's name together.

"You know then, of his infatuation?" Meg asked him quietly.

"I knew something of it, yes. Caressa and I came upon her brother dallying with Jacqueline. She scampered away before she could hear him call out her name. I didn't know the severity of the situation at the time. Now it seems clear." Erik envisioned a darker soul in Heinrich than he had originally imagined. His hatred for the man grew with each moment.

"It is obviously not clear enough yet. Prepare yourself, Erik, for the rest." Meg poured him another glass of wine, then picked up her tale, "After he whispered her name, I commanded him to repeat himself:

"'What did you just say!' I begged of him.

"'I can't recall,' he told me.

"'You said _Caressa_, I heard it clear as day!' I was upset and disgusted, so my voice grew louder.

"'You heard nothing!' He shouted back at me. He also raised his hand, but he did not strike.

"'Why would you speak her name in such a passion! She's your sister!' I wanted him to answer me; I wanted him to make things all right again. I wanted him to tell me I was mad—but he didn't.

"'You wouldn't understand it if I told you.' He pushed me away from him and I knew that I would not be happy come the night's end.

"'Make me understand! What sickness has crawled into your head?' I accused him and pulled at his hair. He pushed me forcefully against the wall, but it was merely retaliation for my outburst.

"'Damn you, Meg!' He screamed in my face, 'All I wanted was one night of happiness and look at what you've done! You've ruined everything!'

"I was shaken and cried at him, 'One night? What about our marriage?' He hurt me most with his next comment.

"'I could never be serious about marrying a spinster ballerina. I knew you would open your legs if I proposed.' My breaking heart silenced me, and he continued, 'You have always been a pleasant diversion, but tonight I needed something more. I fear you wont allow me to call on you again, but there are several more ballerinas at the opera house more easily bedded than you.'

"I found my voice again, 'You're a monster.' That was all I could manage.

"'I'm a man, Meg. I take what I want. You were always sweet and kind and I appreciate what you have done for me. But I will never love you; all my love is elsewhere.' I knew of course then that he meant Caressa.

"He released me from his grasp. 'She's your sister,' I tried to reason. 'She's 14 year old. How can you love a little girl?' I began gathering my belongings as he sat on his bed.

"'My little Caressa has always been the only light in my life. She has the purest soul; the most innocent heart. She gave me a reason to stand against my mother. She was the first woman who ever loved me.' I stared at him in horror. 'I know it isn't the love I feel for her, but it will be one day. I can be patient.'

"I inched toward the door, and spoke as I undid the latch, 'You are a sick man, Heinrich. From this day on we will have no contact, and if I see you I will pretend you do not exist. There is no forgiveness for what you have done to me; you are an evil person and Caressa should be made to know.'

"He looked up at me, and said very calmly, 'I would kill you, Meg. But I would tell your mother about tonight first. Caressa will never know.'

"I stayed away from him after that. I've only seen him once more since that night. I hoped that his infatuation with Caressa would keep her safe from him, but I was wrong." Tears streaked down Meg's face as she spoke, but her voice was strong. "I still love the man I believed he was, though that was only an illusion." She wiped the tears from her face and peered up at Erik through a dark gaze. "He deserves every horror I know you will plan for him once I've finished, and so I am scared to go on. You know what it is to love the person you thought someone was; the person you created in your head. I still cradle his glove while I sleep, and I try to reason every second that he didn't act as he has."

Meg was astounded by the anger Erik was exhibiting. The more tears that fell from her eyes, the more angry he became.

"Be strong, Meg. Tell me about the other night." Erik could not wait any longer; he needed to hear the remainder of Heinrich's songs.

"I was in the dormitories, returning the youngest girls to their section when I saw Caressa in the doorway. She looked concerned so I went to ask her what was wrong. She replied, 'I've discovered that my brother has been committing certain acts with one of my dearest friends.' I thought she meant me, I thought she'd discovered us, and I told her it was over; that she was never supposed to know. It was only then that she revealed that she meant Jacqueline. Caressa ran from me, and I did not go after her. If I had, I could have stopped him.

"I felt cold as I awaited Jacqueline's return to the dormitories. When she walked in I asked her to come to my room and asked after Heinrich. She tried to tell me she hardly knew him and I assured her that she had been discovered. I warned her against him and his insanity, and she laughed it off as she does most things. When I had had my say, I told her Caressa was looking after her and she left." Meg stood and walked to her armoire, and ran her hand across the carvings in the woodwork.

"Jacqueline returned a quarter of an hour later in tears. She kept telling me that Caressa was right; that she was a filthy whore. When she finally calmed down enough to tell me what happened, I thought she would just tell me that Caressa had confronted her. Indeed Caressa had confronted Jacqueline, and Jacqueline in turn told her that Heinrich was in love with her. Then she told me that Heinrich had been waiting for her in the costume room. She was so ashamed at having exposed his secret that she told him what she had done. She said that he changed and became furious with her. He threatened her life, but she was able to hide in the rows of costumes." Meg returned to her chair and sat upon the arm.

"When she knew he had gone, she came directly to me. She feared what he might do to her, or what he might do to Caressa. I instructed Jacqueline to lock the door behind me and I ran to Caressa's room. I heard heated conversation from within and recognized Heinrich's voice. The door was locked, and I was too weak to force it open; I also knew that I would not stop Heinrich without force. Caressa's brother Christophe came around the corner and saw my distress. I remembered that Henri Jekllyne and John Matri were in the room across the hall. I burst into the room and John stood there in shock. 'HELP ME!' I shouted. He was confused for a moment until an unearthly shriek came from across the hall. He and Christophe broke the door out of its frame.

"Caressa laid bare on the bed in a fearful daze, with Heinrich poised above her. His intentions were clear, as he was—exposed—"

The glass in Erik's hand shattered, spilling wine over his chair and himself.

Meg went on, "John wrenched Heinrich away, and the little boy revealed a nasty blade from his boot and slashed open Heinrich's side. Heinrich ran while we tended to Caressa."

Tremors shook Erik's body, but he said nothing.

"I thought you knew. I truly thought you knew."

Erik looked at the woman before him and struggled to speak, "I will plan every horror for him. All the means of torture I possess. Not only for Caressa, but for you, my dear Meg."

Meg smiled widely, "I was hoping you would say that." She moved across the room toward her bed and removed Heinrich's glove from her pillow. "When you see to him—" She returned to Erik's side, "—give him this. Tell him it's from Marguerite Giry."

Erik took the glove and gripped it in his fist. "I treated her so shamefully, and she had been—she was—raped."

Meg grasped his shoulder, "No monsieur, the doctor saw to Caressa this morning. She was bruised, and there were minor abrasions to her sex, but she is still intact. My mother was there during the examination."

"If you had not been there to stop him." Erik rose and held Meg's shoulders gently. "Valiant Meg Giry, you did not deserve to be harmed in such a way, but know that you are a hero for safeguarding the innocence of another. You are a brave soul, and I consider myself fortunate to know you better now."

"I just want to undo the damage I have allowed him to cause. Let him suffer. When the deed is done, please, let me know." Meg sat back down in her chair.

"I will scrawl you a note in his blood," Erik assured her. "I bid you adieu, Mademoiselle Giry." He walked to the door, unlocked it and was about to leave when Meg spoke one more time.

"I have told you many things that I would not wish another soul to hear, but that does not mean I found this meeting unpleasant. Anytime you should wish to return, I shall welcome you as a fond acquaintance," Meg sighed and smiled before emptying the rest of the wine into her glass.

"I look forward to another meeting. And I assure you, no soul has or ever will hear what you have revealed to this old Phantom." He heard Meg laugh as he exited the room.

* * *

Before he could reach his lair, his mind was alive with worse and worse terrors for Heinrich. It had been years since he had tortured anyone, and he felt he might have been out of practice. Visions ran through his mind of a writhing, butchered Heinrich; flayed open from his groin to his throat. He laughed as pushed his gondola back toward his home. There was no time to waste, he would retrieve his tools and be on his way.

* * *

It was not difficult to find the man; he had returned to his apartments above the music shop. The Phantom spied on him from the rooftop of the building across the street. He saw that Jacqueline was with him. Heinrich would shake her eventually, but the girl did not shy from him. It was hours before the girl left, and the Phantom was able to make his move.

Darkness had settled and Jacqueline stepped out of the shop and hailed a carriage. The Phantom waited a few minutes, and then climbed down to the street. He went to the door of the shop, but it was locked. He knocked on the door and heard Heinrich shout, "We're closed!"

Again he knocked, and again he heard the shout. He knocked once more and Heinrich opened the door.

Heinrich saw no one and took a step out of the shop; it was all the opportunity the Phantom needed to get behind him. The Phantom slid a cloth covered in chloroform over Heinrich's mouth and wrenched him backwards into the darkness of the shop. Heinrich flailed like no victim the Phantom could recall, but no man on earth could have escaped him. His hatred was too great and his strength too concentrated. As the man in his arms weakened, the Phantom gripped Heinrich's side forcefully and was rewarded with a muffled bellow as the knife wound Christophe had caused reopened. A few moments later, Heinrich was unconscious.

The Phantom lifted Heinrich over his shoulder and carried him out to a carriage he had taken from the Populaire.

* * *

The other man did not stir until Erik had him back in his lair and he was safely secured on a dissection table he had kept in one of his old torture rooms.

When Heinrich roused, the Phantom stood over him, wearing his Masque of Red Death costume. The Phantom held a scalpel and forceps in each hand.

Heinrich looked frantically at the Phantom, then down at his bound and naked body, "Please, don't—"

"You have no idea what I have planned for you. There aren't enough pleading words left in you to account for what I have in store." The Phantom paused to allow him victim one last moment of speech without pain.

"I beg you—" He gasped for breath through his sobs, "—Tell Caressa I love her."

"I will do no such thing. And let's not get ahead of ourselves, Heinrich. What you suffer tonight has nothing to do with Caressa; I reserve that for tomorrow." The Phantom produced the glove Meg had given him from inside his coat.

Heinrich whimpered, "W—what do you mean?" The Phantom stuffed the glove in Heinrich's mouth.

"Tonight is for Marguerite Giry."


	17. Bonne Anniversaire

Reviews are most welcome.

* * *

**Chapter 17: Bonne Anniversaire**

The very same day that the conversation between Erik and Meg Giry took place, (before Erik had learned the truth about the assault, before he began his torture of Heinrich); Caressa lie strewn across the sofa in John Matri and Henri Jeklynne's suite of rooms.

She stretched out as she tried to feel 16 years old, but she could not feel any notable difference. Madame Giry stood above her and suggested activities Caressa might do to celebrate.

"You could go to a play, or a restaurant. You could have a stroll through the gardens at the royal palace. I could call a carriage for you," Madame Giry smiled. "Be a happy girl on your birthday, wont you?"

Caressa stared up at her and grimaced. "I don't know what I want to do yet. I would normally unleash myself on Paris with Jacqueline and Reinette, but I might strangle Jacqueline if I see her." She interlaced her fingers in a show of malicious uncertainty.

"Why don't you invite Reinette out, then. The two of you could have a lovely day in town. I would send an escort along with you," Madame Giry suggested.

At first, Caressa was delighted by the idea, but as soon as the Madame mentioned an escort, she was not as fond of the notion. She thought back to the last time that she had gone on a proper outing with Reinette. It had been the night that Erik had first visited her. In a small wave of shame she realized that over the passed few months she had not been a great friend to Reinette, when before she met the Phantom the two were inseparable.

"I should like more than anything to go into town with Reinette, but first I want to invite her to the room. I need to speak with her. Would you please ask her to visit with me when you return to the dormitories, Madame? I would be so grateful," Caressa asked this of the Madame with a pleading look in her eyes.

"Of course, Caressa. I'm sure she will be pleased to see you. When you are about to go out, come to the dormitories and I will see to it that a proper chaperon is found for the two of you," Madame Giry instructed before going to the door.

Caressa nodded quickly in agreement.

"Be a good girl then," the Madame chastised as she pulled the door shut.

Caressa rested upon the sofa, awaiting Reinette's arrival. She stared at her stocking feet as she pointed them out and then bent them back inward.

"You have remarkably well-tended feet for a dancer." Caressa bent her head back to see John standing behind her. "They're usually blistered and broken and mangled."

Caressa looked back at her feet. "Monsieur, you haven't seen what is beneath my stockings. I fear that your opinion might change if you saw them removed."

John coughed, "Undoubtedly, mademoiselle. I will join you, if that is quite all right."

"Please."

John situated himself in a chair near her head and spoke again, "Shouldn't you be downstairs? You have a performance tonight, though I wish you would reconsider. It shall be the first of your performances I attend. I intend to see if you should suit my Belle."

"I am not required, only the ballerinas and ensemble today. Madame Giry has spoken to the manager, and he has the costumers letting out my costumes a bit. If I'm careful, and don't do too much to aggravate my rib, all will be well." As she answered him, hardly believing herself. Caressa considered his comment about playing the title character of "Beauty" in his opera. She had not thought about it until that moment. Would he truly cast her? Would Erik force him to cast her, or would Erik forbid her from performing for another man?

"Would you really consider me?" She blurted, and flipped over onto her stomach to view his reaction. A sharp pain emanated from her rib.

"We'll see after tonight, I suppose." He winked at her. "I must confess I was surprised when I came to the Opera Populaire and found that La Carlotta was no longer the soprano. My opera was originally written with the hope that she would sing it."

Caressa's heart jumped into her throat, "Carlotta!" She cried in disgust.

"Yes, I've heard great legends of_ La Carlotta_. I was excited to hear her, but then I discovered a bright young star took her place. It's strangely reminiscent of—what was her name? Christine Daae, she replaced Carlotta as well." John's mention of Christine caused Caressa to twitch in her seat.

"I will admit that perhaps one day, years ago, Carlotta was an admirable soprano, but age and pride have given way to deviation in voice. Smoothness gave way to shrill tremors, but she refused to retire. She's nothing to behold now." Caressa touched John's arm and offered a sad smile.

"We entertainers all become mediocre parodies of ourselves sooner or later." There was a sorrow in his voice that lowered her spirits. "However, when a new talent blooms, some of us are inspired into greatness once more. Perhaps I shall be inspired tonight."

Caressa blushed and scanned his face for emotion and saw a baiting smile behind his eyes.

A light knock came upon the door.

"I hope you will be," Caressa whispered and tapped John's arm playfully as she rose to answer the door.

"Caressa! Bonne anniversaire!" Reinette exclaimed as Caressa had opened the door. The red head threw her arms around her friend.

"Oh, Reinette, thank you! I have missed you so!" Caressa tightened her grip on her friend and rocked her back and forth quickly. She released Reinette after a few moments. "How have you been? What have you been doing?" Caressa asked immediately.

Reinette pulled a face. "Well, things have been troublesome lately. I should rather not like to talk about it in front of a stranger." She indicated John.

"Oh, yes of course. My manners are appalling. John Matri, this is my dearest friend, Reinette Martin."

John had crossed the room to them and he took up Reinette's hand. "A pleasure, mademoiselle," he told her before lightly kissing said hand.

"Likewise, monsieur. We are all very excited to have you here in the opera house. We can hardly wait for rehearsals for the new opera to begin." Reinette curtsied a bit awkwardly at the man in front of her.

"I'm not quite a stranger then. Well, I thank you, Mademoiselle Martin for your warm welcome. May I ask what the two of you have planned for today?" John had noticed that Reinette carried a walking coat in her arms.

"It is my birthday today. Reinette and I are to have a romp downtown!" Caressa grasped Reinette's arm in excitement.

"If it is your birthday, then I must extend an invitation to you so that you may join my brother and I. We are going to lunch at a very fashionable restaurant, or so he claims. Reinette, you must come as well. There shall be much to celebrate."

Caressa looked to Reinette for approval, to which she received a quick and exuberant nodding of the head.

"We thank you for the offer and should love to accept your invitation, monsieur," Caressa beamed at him.

John brushed his hand through the air. "It's the least I can do. We'll set out in an hour or so once Henri returns."

"Reinette and I shall retire to my room until the time comes. I do not mean to rude, but we have something very important and — well, private to discuss." Caressa curtsied and took Reinette's hand before leading her into the bedroom.

"Of course, I'll come for you when Henri returns," John called after them.

* * *

The moment Caressa shut the door, Reinette's jaw dropped in girlish excitement, "He is gorgeous, Caressa!"

"Oh, Reinette!" Caressa blushed.

"You're staying in his rooms? What will people say?"

"Myriad things, I imagine." Caressa considered it the night before, but after a time she realized that she did not care what people thought about the two of them.

"He is very dashing, Caressa. Like a Byronic hero, almost, do you think?" Caressa was surprised by the gossiping tone that Reinette had taken.

"Not at all, Reinette. He is too kind and unaffected to be at all Byronic. There is nothing arrogant in him; nothing dark." Caressa let a smile tug at the corner of her mouth. "He's just John."

"_Just John?_" Reinette repeated.

"Please, Reinette, there is another reason why I asked you here. I need to tell you something. I need to explain what has been going on with me. And when I am finished, I need to ask for your forgiveness for being such a fair-weather friend."

Reinette's eyes grew wide. "You've been busy with the opera and then your father. I understand—"

"No, Reinette, you don't." Caressa paused. "Come sit with me."

They sat and Reinette was rather worried by her friend's strange behaviour.

"Do you remember the day of the auditions? When I had to move into Christine Daae's old dressing room?" Caressa asked.

"Yes, that was when Jacqueline and I thought that the Phantom had stolen you away. You played us well, we actually thought the Phantom was real." Reinette giggled at the thought and Caressa took her hand.

"Reinette — He is real," Caressa admitted soberly.

"That wont work twice, Caressa," Reinette assured her.

"He came to me that very same night that I moved to the room. And then everyday afterward. The Phantom is as real as you or I. He is a man of flesh and blood. I have heard him and touched him." Caressa saw that Reinette hardly believed her. "It was he who ordered the managers to cast me, and he tutored me. When my neck was hurt it was because he grasped me and hurled me into a wall."

Caressa grew exasperated when she saw that Reinette still doubted her.

"His true name is Erik. He is like the Byrnonic hero you spoke of, but more so like a villain. I will show you what he has done most recently and then perhaps you will believe my words." Caressa began to unbutton her gown and then slipped it off of her shoulders.

Reinette sat silent in worry as her friend undressed.

Next Caressa unbuttoned her shift and slowly revealed the bruises beneath.

Reinette gasped in disgust. "Lord in Heaven, Caressa! Is this what happened the other day? Is this why you fell while you were dancing?"

Caressa nodded.

"That's not make-up, is it?" Reinette surveyed the battered torso of her friend. Brown, green, purple and yellow bruises covered her ribcage. Her pale skin had taken on the appearance of a watercolour left out in the rain.

"He was angry with me for speaking with John, and he tied my corset viciously. He wanted to see me in pain, to punish me, so he broke my bones." Caressa re-buttoned her shift. "I told you it was all a joke, because I wanted you to be safe from him."

"And he struck you!" Reinette touched the lightening bruise on her friend's face.

"No, that was not his doing. I fear there is too much to tell, so I shall attempt to be brief." Caressa finished redressing and she began.

"Over the last few months, Erik has been tutoring me and I was entranced by him. I was diligent to his every whim, and I must say that I grew attached to him. I considered him a great friend. I spoke to him about my deepest hopes and dreams. When I went to Seville, I missed him; I wrote him letters. I embraced him — I even kissed his cheek. It became so routine, then Christophe came and I started to fall out of his spell.

"Then I found out about Jacqueline and Heinrich."

Reinette lowered her head. "Jacqueline has been inconsolable lately. She was ruined when you found out."

"You knew!" Caressa became angry.

"No, no! She told me after you found out. She was so ashamed. She has not stopped crying." Reinette touched her friend's arm. "She feels terrible."

"Good. I hope she cries forever." Caressa could not care less about Jacqueline's state of mind.

Reinette was taken aback by her coolness. "Caressa how can you say that? She's your friend!"

"She's a trollop. She knew what he would do to me—"

"Heinrich? What did he do?"

Caressa knew this moment would arrive, and she was slightly relieved that not everyone knew about it. "He tried to force himself on me three days ago. Jacqueline told me that he was infatuated with me, and then she ran off and told him what she'd done. I don't know what was in his head, but he was a completely different person. He terrified me and struck me and tried to do terrible things."

"Heinrich was always so good. He was so kind to us. He used to bring us all out, remember?" Reinette recalled each encounter she had had with Heinrich. "He always carried us about on his shoulders."

"Don't think on him any longer, Reinette. He was my brother, and now he's nothing. He's a stranger, and a whore monger, and a..." Caressa pulled her knees close to her chest.

"I'm sorry, it's just difficult to think that someone could hide a secret so dark." Reinette grew very quiet.

"I needed to tell someone I care about and trust. I needed you to know because I couldn't bare it on my own any longer." Reinette hugged her friend tightly. "Madame Giry asked John and his brother if I might stay within their suite. I think it was partly to anger Erik, but I don't see what good it will do."

"Well, you're safe from him, aren't you?" Reinette asked hopefully.

Caressa shook her head slowly. "He has already been inside this room. He left a doll he had stolen from my room when he destroyed it."

"He destroyed your room!"

"Almost everything, and he stole the things from beneath my bed, my most precious things." Caressa looked around the room, guessing where he may have entered through; assuming that he didn't use the door.

"What if he's watching us now?" Reinette wondered, also looking about in suspicion.

"It's probably likely, but I find I don't care, not for those who wish me harm."

"At any rate, Heinrich can't return to the opera house, I'm sure Madame Giry has the security on the alert. She told me to remind you that before we go out that we should return to her so that a proper chaperon can be found for us." Caressa nodded at this in the same way in which she had nodded at the Madame.

Caressa perked up. "Wait, we don't need a chaperon, we shall have John and Henri with us."

"But we should still tell the Madame," Reinette tried to reason.

"We'll leave a note. Besides, John has protected me before. He saved me from Heinrich the other night." At this Caressa began to whisper, "He said he held onto me all night."

"What luck! I should say you deserved some," Reinette exclaimed quietly.

"Oh, and you should hear his music, Reinette. His music is unlike anything I've heard. I want more than anything to be in his opera." Caressa imagined herself as John's Belle.

Reinette broke into her thoughts. "What about the Phantom's music? Surely John's can't compare!"

"I—" She paused, "—He played nothing of his own." Caressa recalled.

"He didn't write an opera for you?"

Caressa felt an ache in her chest, "He never wrote anything for me. I suppose he used his genius up on Christine. No matter, I shouldn't like to think on him any longer."

"No, tell me more about John's opera."

* * *

Before John could come to retrieve them, Christophe returned from helping Matteo backstage. When he saw Reinette, he blushed and found the spot farthest from her to stand.

"You enjoy work more than any other boy," Caressa commended him.

"I like to be useful," Christophe murmured.

Reinette grinned at him. "I see you walking up in the flies. If I didn't know any better, I'd say you just watch the corps all day."

"No, I just—I enjoy—We tighten things up there," was all he managed to reply with.

"It is wonderful to hear your voice, Christophe," Reinette complimented him.

"And yours," he whispered.

John knocked at the door. "Henri has returned, if you are ready, mademoiselles?"

"Oh dear." Caressa looked to Christophe, wondering what to do with him. She couldn't very well invite along another guest. "We shall be out in a moment!" She called. "Now, Christophe, I want you to stay within the suite while we are gone to lunch. I will tell the policeman at the entrance that you are not to leave. We shall return shortly. Try to entertain yourself."

The girls rose and took up their coats. Caressa kissed her brother's forehead.

"Stay out of trouble."

"Likewise," the boy replied.

Caressa and Reinette exited and joined John and Henri in the sitting room.

"I'm gone for a few hours, and when I return, John has secured two of the loveliest companions in the opera house. Brava, my brother, brava!" Henri made a flourish with his arms and grasped Reinette's hand. "Enchante, mademoiselle. I am Jean-Henri Louis Jekllyne III, and you are the lovely, Reinette Martin."

Reinette fluttered and blushed. "Well, yes. How did you know?"

"I am not psychic, my brother told me so. Let's be off to Café de la Paix then. No time to waste, my brother tells me he has exciting news!" Henri held the door open. "Your carriage awaits."

* * *

As they rode, Henri regaled the company with stories about their travels abroad. When they arrived at the restaurant, Caressa became extremely self conscious. It was indeed a very fine establishment. She looked at her plain cotton dress and then at Reinette's. They appeared to be severely under-dressed.

John seemed to read her thoughts as he offered her his arm and assured her that she looked lovely. They reached the host and Henri offered his name. The host immediately perked as he viewed his guests.

"It is an honour, messieurs, mademoiselles. If you should require anything at all, you need only ask." As another employee showed them to their seats, Caressa heard the host tell someone nearby, "That's Carolina Bucher, she is Carmen at the Populaire. Cunning little thing is trying to hide in that hideous frock."

After a moment of excitement at being recognized, Caressa was hurt by his comment on her dress. They were seated outside, beneath an overhanging of gardenias. Caressa sat across from John and smiled at him as she took her seat.

"Bring out a bottle of your best Chardonnay to start," Henri instructed the waiter, who then sputtered. "I don't need to speak with your sommelier."

The waiter nodded and disappeared into the building.

"To the first order of business," John began, "Bonne Anniversaire, our dear friend Caressa!"

Caressa reddened as each of her companions wished her a happy birthday.

"Thank you very much. And thank you again for inviting us along." Caressa shifted her feet beneath the table and glanced at her menu.

The waiter returned with the bottle of Chardonnay. He uncorked it and poured it out into Henri's glass. Henri took in its scent, examined the legs, grinned and nodded. Caressa and Reinette received their libations next, and when the waiter reached John he drew back when he saw a hand over the glass.

John turned the waiter and spoke quietly, "No, thank you, monsieur."

Henri most readily took up his glass. The girls sipped cautiously at their wine, not wishing to appear gluttonous.

"If everyone has made a decision, I would gladly take your order," the waiter offered. The four completed their order, and the waiter disappeared once more.

"I had forgotten that ballerinas eat like birds," Henri joked.

"Well, there is a performance tonight, we would not want to overeat beforehand," Reinette explained. Caressa smiled knowingly at her; they did not wish to impose.

"Of course." Henri turned on his younger brother. "Now you must tell me your great news. I have waited long enough."

John produced a small notebook from his coat pocket and opened it to reveal a folded letter. "I have had a letter from Starikovich." At this Henri sat up straight in his seat.

"Yes?"

"After our meetings with him, I truly thought that he would never entertain the thought of us bringing our music there." John was attempting to build up his brother's suspense.

"The great Russian beast, with a beard down to his knees. I hardly knew if we were talking to a man or an animal," Henri recalled.

John tipped his notebook toward Caressa and she saw a sketch that he had drawn of Starikovich. He was a severe looking man with dark features, a prominent nose, and a great bushy beard. She giggled.

"Well? Will they have us?" Henri hounded John.

"Four months from now, we will be in St. Petersburg!" Both men stood and embraced one another. "We must buy up all the furs in Paris. I should hate to freeze to death before we get there."

"Finally, finally St. Petersburg!" Henri embraced his brother one last time before they returned to their seats. "You see, we have been offering our services to the St. Petersburg opera house for five or six years now, and finally we are accepted!"

Caressa felt ill at the thought that John would be going away so soon, but she smiled widely and heartily gave her congratulations. "There are no two composers more deserving, I'm sure."

"As am I!" Henri agreed as their food arrived, and the party laughed.

Caressa noticed that as the waiter set John's food down before him, he was looking gravely past her head. _Perhaps he will be sad to leave me_, she thought. Then he shifted his eyes and seemed to almost frown at her.

"You must behave yourselves when you get to Russia, or you'll be taken in by their strong alcohol and gypsy women, and then you'll never come back to Paris," Caressa attempted to jest while subtly asking if they might return.

Henri glanced at John with an impish grin on his mouth, "It well known that I am no stranger to a little fun. But little do you know that our John was once a wild man—"

"Henri!" John barked and grasped his brother's arm tightly.

"I'm sorry, John. I was only having a bit of a game. Surely they know I was merely joking." Henri took a sip of wine. "Never believe a word I say, girls. I'm a wag, through and through." He winked and set his glass down.

Caressa and Reinette were not certain on how to proceed after such an exchange. So they both inclined their heads in slight bows and commenced eating.

As Caressa cut through her fois gras, she glanced up at John and saw that he was darkly looking passed her again. It was look bordering on anger. When he noticed she had registered this odd behaviour, she began to turn about.

"Don't." Before John could stop her, Caressa had turned to see that Heinrich was seated a few tables away, sharing a meal with Jacqueline. She hastily returned her gaze to the table cloth before her. She turned her face toward Henri in the hopes that they would not notice her.

"We'll go now," John announced.

"We've only just arrived, our meal—" Henri suddenly became aware of the look of horror on Caressa's face.

"What's wrong?" Reinette asked, and patted her friend's hand. "Caressa?"

It was her name that caused Heinrich to turn in his seat. John watched as the man's eyes fell upon Caressa's back. Then their eyes locked and Heinrich recognized John as the man who had torn him away from Caressa. Both men stood simultaneously. Henri attempted to stand, but John stayed him with a hand on his shoulder.

Caressa did not turn, but she heard Jacqueline saying, "Oh God, oh God, oh God..."

She could feel his presence as he drew nearer, and she glanced to see the gaze of hatred that Reinette was casting toward him. His shadow fell over her and she knew how close he was. She turned in her chair to face him and as she did an ache in her chest erupted into a sob.

He appeared as he ever had, her kind and loving brother. She wanted him to look a like villain, but she only saw pain in his eyes. He was a few feet away and reached his hand toward her for a moment, but then thought better of it.

"Forgive me, sweet sister," he whispered softly.

John waited dutifully upon Caressa's reaction. He did not know whether to call for the police or to give him a serious thrashing first.

Caressa sobbed once more at the man before her. Every memory they shared had been tainted and she was mortified that he had dared to call her "sister".

"Goddamn you!" She shouted at him. Everyone around her was staggered by her ejaculation. Each person in the restaurant turned toward the scene. Heinrich stepped back as if she had struck him. "You are a bastard and a rapist and God in Heaven I fear what else you are!"

With each insult, he took a step backward. When Caressa was finished she collapsed onto Reinette in a fit of tears.

"Remove yourself, or I shall call for the authorities!" John threatened him. Heinrich did not move. "Perhaps I shall remove you by my own hand!"

Heinrich looked to a sobbing Jacqueline. "We're leaving!" He ordered her. She rose and went to his side.

As they left, Jacqueline turned back for a moment and said, "Bonne Anniversaire."

When they had gone, the host came to the table and saw the state of things. "What was the meaning of that!" He demanded to know.

"I assure you, monsieur, it was the other party's doing. We shall stay no longer, and I apologize to you and any guests who have been inconvenienced by this display," Henri attempted to placate the host. "We shall leave a generous gratuity, you can be certain."

"Well, as long as everyone is all right, I suppose there is no harm done." The host bowed and returned to his post quietly.

"I'll wait for the bill, John, escort the girls and go find a carriage," Henri instructed his brother.

"Of course." John produced a handkerchief from an inside pocket and handed it to Caressa. "We're going now." John and Reinette helped Caressa out of her chair and got her walking toward the exit.

"I'll be fine," She told them as the tears stopped. "I can't believe I said those things."

"Neither can I," Reinette agreed.

"He was every bit deserving of them," John attempted to reassure her.

A carriage pulled up along side them and they climbed inside to wait for Henri.

"What a disaster. It was my fault for inviting you along." John put his hand over his eyes. "I'm a fool."

"No, monsieur. You could not have known that they would be there," Reinette said kindly.

Henri climbed in and sat next to John. "Well, let's put that behind us and move on. Back to the opera house!"

Caressa nodded. "I agree, let's put that behind us."

As they rode, a group of street urchins danced around the carriage. They were calling out for the company to throw money to them. Henri tossed out a few coins and watched the children scatter after them.

"They remind me of Italy," Henri laughed. "When first moved to Italy, six years ago now, there was a little urchin boy who used to run errands for us. He ran letters, swept and shopped for little things." He tapped his brother's knee. "Do you remember him, John?"

"Angelo," John said quietly as he looked out the window.

"Yes, well, Angelo was dear little thing, I daresay it was almost like having a son between us. The poor boy's mother sent us a letter asking if we would take him on, that she had contracted consumption." Henri looked to John again. "You went to see her, you wanted to be sure she wasn't just trying to rid herself of the boy. She died a few days after sending the letter, and we took him on."

Caressa smiled at the generosity. "That was very kind of you, messieurs. Did you send him to school? Is he there now?"

Henri realized that this was perhaps not the best story to have begun. "No, a few weeks after we took him in, consumption came for him as well."

Caressa and Reinette were shocked into silence.

"He would have been the age of your brother now," John directed this comment toward Caressa.

Before she could reply, the carriage arrived back at the Opera Populaire.

* * *

Reinette thanked John and Henri once more. Before she returned to the dormitories, she wished that the rest of Caressa's day would be much improved. The rest of the party returned to their suite and entered with a sigh of relief.

Henri excused himself directly, explaining that he needed to continue working on the libretto.

Caressa sat upon the sofa and tried to look as lonely as possible. John sat next to her without asking first if she would permit it.

He sighed comically and let his head fall back on the cushion. "I think it is safe to say that all could have gone better."

In spite of herself, Caressa chuckled. "It is better now."

"I may be overstepping a boundary by saying this, but I wanted to throttle him, Caressa." John's body stiffened as he admitted this to her. "I was almost in a rage the moment that I saw him."

"Please don't do anything dangerous on my behalf," she implored him.

"I hope that's never an issue. I only wish that either the police would have him in custody or that he would face some sort of justice." John's hand made a tight fist and Caressa began to understand his feelings.

"If this world is truly good, justice will bring him to light." An image of Erik flashed before Caressa's eyes, but she shook the thought from her head.

"I wish there was something that I could do for you on your birthday. I have no gift to give you." The man before her appeared defeated.

She thought quickly and pushed her anxieties out of her mind. "There are two things that you might do for me."

John grinned. "You cheeky, girl. Go on."

"Perhaps you could play me a few songs from the new opera. . ." She paused.

"The second thing?"

"Well, I don't have an escort for the Masquerade. And if you were to ask me, I would consider it." Once she had said this, her cheeks turned red and she looked away.

She felt John take her hand in his. "Look at me, Caressa." She turned back to him.

He placed a large hand on the side of her face. She warmed to it instantly.

"Forget that it's you birthday and everything that has happened today, and answer my next question as if it were not prompted."

Caressa nodded.

"Would you allow me to escort you to the Masquerade? And perhaps, allow me to brush a kiss across your cheek?" John held her cheek in suspense.

Her eyes flashed slyly at him. "Would the kiss happen now, or on the night of the Masquerade?"

"Answer me, woman." He placed his index finger beneath chin.

"Yes to everything," she managed to breath softly. As he moved in to kiss her cheek Caressa felt the rest of the day melt away.

"Excuse my intrusion, Monsieur Matri!" Madame Giry called from the entrance to the sweet. She felt both disbelief and annoyance at the scene before her.

Before his lips reached her cheek, Madame Giry had entered the room. Caressa cursed silently.

John stood cooly and strode to his office door, "I must continue with my opera. Good day, Mademoiselle Bucher. Madame Giry."

"You foolish girl!" Madame Giry scolded her as John closed the door. She grasped Caressa's wrist, in an attempt to pull her toward Caressa's new bedroom."Do you wish to anger Erik?"

Caressa yanked her hand away. "No, madame. John was just—"

"_John was just what?_ Have you let him kiss you before this?" Madame Giry hounded her.

"No, he asked if he could kiss my cheek as a gift. Nothing more," Caressa reasoned. Though even she could sense the naivety in her reply.

Madame Giry clucked her tongue. "You know so little of men." The Madame sat next to her and began in a hushed voice, "John has not always been a good man. Do not presume that his past in spotless. You are so young, Caressa. Don't rush into love."

"I don't plan to, but you should not say such things against him. John has been nothing but kind toward me. He has acted on my behalf time and again. What have you done for me until just recently? You shut yourself up and out of Erik's way, because you were too afraid of him to tell him _no_. It took Erik nearly killing me to spur you into some form of action. I am young, and I know nothing of men, but it's because you have never told me what to expect. You assumed that I would always be a little girl who says her prayers every night and that I would never know what a man does to a woman behind closed doors.

"Look what all of that got you. The Phantom came for me and then Heinrich—And neither time was I prepared. My life has been complete terror, and now that I have found a light, you tell me to put it out. With all due respect, Madame Giry, you're my teacher, not my mother. If I want to kiss John, I will kiss John. If he wants to take me to the Masquerade, then I will gladly go with him. And when he leaves in four months to go to St. Petersburg, my heart will most likely break, but I will have been happy for those few months." Caressa paused and took a deep breath. "And happiness is not something that I can easily come by."

During her speech, Caressa had risen and was standing before Madame Giry.

"Caressa. . . I don't know what to say." The Madame was obviously ashamed.

"I have scolded you, and I am sorry, but I will not be lectured today."

"Forgive me for not helping you before he hurt you," the Madame begged.

"Of course, madame. Do not worry so much about John and I. If he hurts me, then I deserve to be jilted, for I have fully brought it on myself. You are my guardian now, and I will listen to your guidance, though I may not heed it." Caressa walked to her bedroom where Christophe was napping inside. "Good day, madame."

Madame Giry sat in humiliation. She could not recall a time that she had felt more low. Then she heard a door open.

John leaned against the doorway to his office.

"I have not always been good man, that may be true. There was a period of my life when I found solace in the blackest parts of life. But my dark past is seven years behind me. You know well my pains and secrets. You know that Caressa is safe here with us. You would not have installed her here otherwise. I ask that you would not besmirch my character further to her. If I wish her to know about my wife and the years afterward, then I will tell her myself. It is interesting to know what you say about your friends behind closed doors." John glared at her before returning to the office and shutting the door behind him.

Madame sunk lower in her seat and wished that she had remained on the stage that day.


	18. An Admirer

Reviews are most welcome.

* * *

**Chapter 18: An Admirer**

Caressa readied herself for the performance that she would give on her birthday. She was well aware that John would be in the crowd, and she prepared herself to be better than her best. Though it would be considerably more difficult with a broken rib. Before the curtain rose she said a prayer in hopes that she would be flawless. She performed Carmen with more passion and emotion than she ever had before, though with noticeably less flourishes.

Great nerves of apprehension worked in her stomach during the intermission. She was dying to see John's reaction. She peeked out of the curtain, but could not spot him anywhere. She held a hand against her aching side, and began to regret her decision to perform before she was healed.

Reinette went to her frantic friend and attempted to calm her. "Caressa, don't worry so, you're lovely."

"And you, you're perfect," Caressa assured Reinette. The friends embraced before taking their places.

Caressa continued and finished the performance without scanning the crowd for John. When the curtain closed, the performers received their biggest applause yet. Caressa flashed her teeth at the audience with an enormous stage smile as she and Francois Dupont took the stage for their bow. She curtsied as Francois bowed, and then the curtain closed once more. Francois kissed her cheek and removed himself as the curtain rose one last time for Caressa. Roses of every colour fell at her feet.

Instead of her usual tame curtsy, Caressa felt emboldened by the applause. Caressa performed a pirouette and as she ended it she sunk into a bow. The crowd roared in delight. She then galloped from one side of the stage to the other, blowing kisses from her fingertips as the curtain closed. All the while, her side was in agony, but she found that the wild ovation was a powerful pain reliever.

"What's gotten into you?" Meg Giry asked her as she surveyed the frenzied crowd.

"I don't know, I just did a pirouette and they wanted more, so I blew them kisses!" Caressa had never felt so high after a performance. Her chest was heaving in pain and excitement, and she sat herself down in a chair backstage.

Meg followed her. "They're in love with you, Caressa. Can you hear them? All of Paris?" Meg smiled and handed her a bouquet of white roses that had been thrown onto the stage. "Bonne anniversaire."

Caressa stood again and took Meg's hands. "Meg, my teacher, my friend—Let there be no animosity between us. Whatever has happened is in the past."

"Of course, Caressa." Meg touched the young woman's face before her. "We'll forget him."

"If you see either of the managers before I do, let them know that I will give as many interviews as they like tonight." Caressa walked away from Meg, but called back over the hustle and bustle backstage, "I have something I need to do first!"

As Caressa moved further backstage, she removed a letter from within her now loose fitting costume. It had been delivered just before she had left her room for the performance. The envelope simply read, _Carolina Bucher_. Inside was a beautiful piece of folded stationary with an embossed golden-floral print. It was as such:

"Mademoiselle Bucher,

You do not know me, and we have never been acquainted before this day. I have not failed to attend any of your performances at the Populaire. I greatly admire your voice and your dancing. I wish to beg an audience with you after tonight's performance. Please meet me in the chapel within the opera house. You would have every right to believe me to be a fanatic, and I shall understand if you refuse to meet with me. However, believe me when I tell you that you and I have something very unique in common. I will say more upon our meeting.

With respect,

An Admirer"

Caressa entered the chapel, and saw that her admirer had not yet arrived. She went to light the candle above her father's portrait. The day she had returned from Seville, Caressa had begun lighting a candle for her father. She had placed his portrait next to her mother's. Caressa whispered a short prayer before realizing that she was no longer alone.

"I used to light a candle for my father in this room." When Caressa heard the voice of her admirer, she turned toward the entrance.

Caressa's voice caught in her throat as she looked upon the Vicomtesse de Chagny.

"I can tell by the look on your face that you have seen a ghost." The Vicomtesse stepped closer to Caressa.

Still she could not find words.

"When Carlotta was replaced by an ingénue, I had my suspicions. When I saw the advertisements with your likeness, my suspicions grew. And then when I invited Madame Giry to my home, she hinted that perhaps he had taken on another pupil. But the first night I saw you perform, I knew." The Vicomtesse attempted to soften her demeanor. "Carolina, I know that you have been visited by the Phantom."

"I never thought that you would come back to this place," Caressa whispered.

"Believe me, I understand the peril of returning here, but when I found out about you I had to come. We needn't speak here." The Vicomtesse produced a card from her jacket and held it out to Caressa. "Please call on me whenever you have time."

Caressa searched her predecessor's eyes. "Erik and I have had a falling out."

"'Erik? Is that his name?" The Vicomtesse asked before assessing Caressa's statement. "What do you mean by a falling out?"

"He could have killed me. He tried. He hasn't come to me in the days since. It was all because I disobeyed him." Caressa looked at the card in her hands.

"Carolina, I cannot stay any longer. You must promise me that you will come to see me. I have been where you are now. I understand like no one else could understand. Please let me help you." Christine grasped Caressa's hand. "Promise me?"

Caressa saw a deep compassion in the Vicomtesse's eyes.

"I promise, thank you," Caressa assured her.

"Do not tell him I was here." The elder woman began to exit.

"Vicomtesse?" Caressa called, and Christine turned. "Did you enjoy the performance?"

Christine smiled beautifully. "You were enchanting." And then she was gone.

Caressa was stunned for a moment. She had considered that it may have been the Vicomtesse, but she had been shocked none-the-less. She ran the card between her fingers and decided that she would indeed go to see her.

Having made up her mind, she went to find the managers. It was not long before Monsieur Maugnaut had discovered her.

"Mademoiselle Bucher! I hear you are ready to speak with the press?" He exclaimed and offered her his arm. "We have arranged an office to be set up for interviews."

Caressa nodded and smiled. She was too nervous to return to the suite and see John. Instead, she realized that it was about time she gave a proper interview.

Monsieur Maugnaut escorted her inside an office that had been decorated with the flowers from the stage.

"I shall send the first man in directly," Maugnaut informed her as he closed the door.

Caressa took a seat behind the desk and breathed deeply. A man in a bowler entered and tipped his hat.

"Brava, Mademoiselle Bucher. Congratulations on your third performance. My name is Jacques du Bois." He began.

"Thank you, Monsieur du Bois. I feel I must warn you that I have never been interviewed before." Caressa was not certain what she was going to be asked.

"I have the exclusive then?" Jacques clasped his hands together. "It's an honour."

"Ask away."

"Where are you from?"

"Italy." As she answered his questions he recorded her responses.

"Are you classically trained?"

"Yes," she paused, "In singing? Yes, recently."

Jacques nodded. "I hear you used to be in the corps de ballet? When did you decide to go from ballet to singing?"

"When I was asked to audition for the part of _Carmen_."

"You were asked to replace Carlotta by the managers?"

"Yes, after an audition," Caressa replied.

"There has been a lot of speculation about the famous _Opera Ghost_ having something to do with you getting the part. The situation is uncannily similar to that of Christine Daae." Jacques poised his pen as he awaited her response.

Caressa grinned. "You know as well as I do that the Opera Ghost was a tragic publicity ruse that went terribly awry. No one representing this opera house would be foolish enough to start that up again."

Jacques nodded as he wrote. "Will you be starring in John Matri's new opera for the Populaire?"

"I have not been asked to, no—"

As Caressa answered this question, Maugnaut stuck his head in the door.

"Time's up!" He told Jacques.

"A pleasure, Mademoiselle Bucher," Jacques said as he rose to leave.

"Thank you, Monsieur du Bois." Caressa smiled at him.

* * *

Most of the interviews afterward were the same as the first. Some of the reporters asked about her disappearance during her father's funeral. There was however, one singular interview that stood out to Caressa. The only female reporter to see her entered the room and curtsied before taking a seat in front of Caressa.

"Good day, Carolina!" She began. "May I call you Carolina?" She asked flippantly.

"I prefer Caressa. Only my father called me Carolina," Caressa responded.

"My name is Mirabelle Dantes and I want to know all about your fashions." Caressa saw that Mirabelle was very well dressed herself. "I have been to every parlour, every salon, every fine clothier, and no one admits to clothing you. Where do you have your gowns made?"

Caressa could hardly believe that it was someone's job to find out where her clothes came from.

"All of my clothes were made by my mother," Caressa admitted.

"Is Madame Bucher a seamstress?" Mirabelle asked as she jotted down what Caressa said.

"No, my mother sewed her gowns, and when she died sixteen years ago my father saved them for me."

Mirabelle blanched and paused her pen.

"All of your clothes are sixteen years old?" Mirabelle asked in disbelief.

"Yes," Caressa responded sheepishly.

"Why?"

Caressa was confused. "I can't afford new clothes."

"Darling, if you're making half as much money as Carlotta, you could be draped in the height of fashion."

As Mirabelle spoke Monsieur Maugmaut entered to say that time was up.

"Hold on!" Caressa interrupted him and held up her hand. "We're not finished."

Maugnaut silently exited.

"Keep talking," Caressa prompted.

"Carlotta made 30,000 francs a month. How much do you make?" Mirabelle wondered.

"They give me room and board," Caressa answered begrudgingly, realizing how the managers had duped her.

Mirabelle leaned forward conspiratorially. "You know that any dressmaker in France would clothe you free of charge? All you have to do is be seen in their fashions and they'll make you an entire wardrobe. The most famous clothiers in Paris are dying for you to represent them. All you have to do is walk through their door."

Maugnaut reentered and urgently insisted that she move on.

* * *

After the interviews were over, Caressa asked Monsieur Maugnaut to join her in the office.

"Anything you need, mademoiselle, just ask it of me," Maugnaut told her as he sat down.

"Truly, monsieur?" Maugnaut noted the contempt in her voice.

He swallowed.

"I hear that La Carlotta received 30,000 francs a month during her time as lead soprano." Caressa stared at Maugnaut harshly.

He sputtered for a moment. "Carlotta was a prima donna; a legend! You can't expect to make 30,000 francs a month on your first opera."

Caressa shook her head. "I don't. I expect to make 35,000 francs."

"You can't be serious!" Maugnaut shouted and stood from his seat.

"Why not? I could have told the papers that you don't pay me, and then we could have waited for the police to come. Or I could tell them that the Opera Ghost is real and that he has promised to set the Populaire ablaze once more on a random night of his choosing."

"You're trying to blackmail me?" Maugnaut accused.

"It works for my master," she shot back at him.

"You are not the little girl I met on that stage," Maugnaut whispered in awe.

"But I am, monsieur, because I'll happily accept 10,000 francs a month." Caressa grinned as she saw that Maugnaut was defeated.

Maugnaut shook his head and gave a sarcastic chuckle. "That's more than reasonable. I'll set up an account in your name."

"My sincerest thanks, monsieur," Caressa shot over her shoulder as she strode out of the office.

* * *

Caressa entered John and Henri's suite and saw that John, Henri, Christophe, Reinette and Madame Giry were all waiting for her. The sitting room had been filled with flowers.

Christophe and Reinette were upon her the moment she opened the door. She received their embraces and congratulations and then they celebrated with wine and stories. After an hour of merriment, Caressa was too tired to continue the festivities. Though she yearned to speak with John privately, she knew it would not happen that night.

When she expressed her exhaustion, everyone readily decided to retire as well. Caressa and Christophe changed into their nightclothes and climbed into their new bed. Caressa had little time to contemplate the previous day before she fell asleep. In that little time she recalled her conversation with Reinette, John's invitation to the Masquerade, Heinrich at the restaurant, her almost kiss, Christine Daae, and her new salary.

* * *

Caressa was awoken by the sound of glass breaking in the room next to hers. Christophe remained asleep, but she had bolted up in bed.

"It's not a fucking ballet, John!" She heard Henri shout. It was coming from John's office.

John supplied a short reply that was muffled through the wall.

"You can't do this to me! After everything I've done for you! I saved your life!" Henri continued to shout.

After this she heard the crack of John's office door slamming and then Henri's soon afterward.

Caressa rose from her bed and went out into the sitting room. She went to John's office door and pushed it open. John was sitting on the piano bench with a single lamp lighting the room from behind him.

Without looking up, he said quietly, "He's overreacted. He'll be better in the morning."

"What's happened?" She asked and walked toward him.

"I made a rather large alteration to the opera," John told her.

"What did you change?"

"You must be my Belle, but not as I had envisioned. You must not be offended by what I say next," John asked of her.

"Tell me," Caressa begged as she sunk to her knees beside him.

"You are just as I see Belle in my head. Your voice is fine, but it's not right." Caressa shied away at this admittance. "I realized what is necessary for my opera tonight." He paused. "I'm reducing Belle's libretto."

"Well, I can understand why Henri would be angry," Caressa responded, feeling slighted herself. _Is my voice truly that bad?_ She wondered.

When John spoke next, he gestured in frustration with his fists. "It's what's best for the opera. You made me see it tonight."

Caressa cast her eyes down. "What have I done now?"

"It was your dancing. Anything you could sing with your voice, you could illustrate with your dancing with so much more passion." His deep grey eyes bore into her own and she looked away. The intensity was too much and too foreign.

"You want your lead soprano to dance through your opera?" Caressa shook her head. Paris would hate him if he attempted such a thing.

"When you are on the stage, your voice is secondary. Don't deny that ballet is your true art. Everyone in Paris watches your body and only then do they listen to your voice." The dark enticement in John's voice sent a shiver down Caressa's body.

She remained silent.

"You hypnotize people when you dance. I have seen it and so will Paris. I'll need you to begin choreography immediately if you accept."

After a moment of doubt, Caressa nodded. "I will be your Belle as you see her."

"I have asked Henri to rewrite your aria, and then your duet with Beast. I have removed all other libretto for Belle." John put his hand under Caressa's chin. "I know this is right, though a gamble, and I want you beside me. Once rehearsals come together, everyone will see my purpose."

"Poor Henri," Caressa whispered.

"I'll make it up to him in St. Petersburg," John remarked before turning back to his music and the piano. "I could play you something now? I didn't have the chance to earlier."

Caressa looked at the door in exhaustion, and then back at John. She saw that he was too upset by his fight with Henri to sleep. Her heart ached for him.

"Please?" Was her only reply as she joined him on the piano bench.

John smiled. "This is the song that will introduce Belle. I call it _Belle_." He inclined his head awkwardly as he said this and raised his eyebrows comically.

Caressa lightly head butted his shoulder and laughed.

"I'm very good at naming things," he joked. "Now, I envision you sitting center stage, in a field of wildflowers. You're picking them and placing them in your hair." Caressa closed her eyes to imagine the movements with the music. "When your little overture plays out, you will rise and dance in your happiness to be poor, yet free. Your sister will call for you from stage left, and you will run toward her voice, but return to center stage quickly to pluck one last flower." John stopped playing.

"I can see that. I just hope that Paris understands your vision," Caressa told him quietly.

"Paris will not ignore _The Great Caressa Bucher_!" He laughed.

"They don't know who_ Caressa Bucher_ is. All of Paris knows me as _Carolina_." This had been a mistake made by Monsieur Maugnaut when they first began promoting _Carmen_.

"Isn't that your name?" John asked.

"Yes, I was christened Carolina, but only my father ever called me by that name. It was my mother's name. My stage name was supposed to be _Caressa Bucher_, but they promoted the name that was on my contract." Caressa picked at her nightgown in annoyance.

"_Carolina Bucher_ is more adult; more exotic than _Caressa_," John told her. "Kah-ro-LEE-nah_ Boo-shay_," he whispered in her ear slowly, taking time on each syllable.

"Again," she asked, "I'm starting to like it."

John pulled her brunette waves of hair back from her ear and whispered again, "Kah-ro-LEE-nah_ Boo-shay_."

A coil of heat lit itself in Caressa's stomach and she felt her cheeks flushing bright red.

"Again."

John's arms encircled Caressa and he supported her weakening frame as he whispered once more:

"Kah-ro-LEE-nah."

Caressa rested in his arms and felt his warm breath sweeping across her neck. When his lips touched the skin of her throat she spoke.

"You must always call me Carolina, only you," she instructed, wanting to hear it again and again.

"And all of Paris," he reminded her.

"Not the way you say it." Caressa rocked her head back and forth in his hands.

John pulled away from Caressa and realized more clearly what was happening. _She thinks she's falling in love with me_, he thought suddenly. Pangs of severe guilt ran through him at the thought. He recalled Madame Giry's warning to Caressa about him the previous afternoon. He would not allow her to rush into his arms without first giving her warning as to his previous character. John began removing his arms from Caressa.

"I must tell you something before you begin to grant me such privileges." He moved away from her and Caressa's heart sank.

"Tell me," she begged.

"I heard Madame Giry mention that my past is not sterling this afternoon—"

"She was trying to scare me, I didn't listen to her," Caressa interrupted.

John closed his eyes. "You should have listened to her. I want to tell you myself before anyone tells you otherwise. I will tell you only the starkest truth. I am my harshest critic, so I will spare nothing from you." He glanced up at her from beneath dark, half-lidded eyes. "I was a very bad man."

Caressa swallowed and turned away from him.

"I must tell you what made me that man, for I did not stray from the path of a good man lightly." John took a deep breath and seeing that Caressa remained, began his story. "I was always a very moral man. My father was a businessman, and my family was very wealthy, but my mother always kept it from affecting my character. I grew up in boarding schools, and I had many friends there. A good, normal life, by all accounts. From a young age, I knew I wanted to compose music. That disheartened my father, who wanted me to be a businessman as well. He wanted me to travel to Paris and Berlin with him and continue his legacy of debauchery.

"But I found something else to occupy my time." John sighed and shut his eyes. "Eliza, my wife. She was fair and beautiful; the only girl for me in all of London. She was like an angel. I knew I would marry her the day I met her. And when she accepted my proposal, I was the happiest man in the world." John sighed again. "Then I told my father.

"He said that Elizabeth Hughes was from a family of no consequence and that she was worthless. And that if I married her I would be cut off entirely. I imagined he would say that, so I explained that we were already married. He struck my face, turned me out, and called me a stranger from that day forward. But I was still the happiest man in the world, and I still had the most beautiful and obliging wife.

"It didn't take long for the worry to set in. _Will she love me now that the money is gone? Will I be able to provide for her?"_

Caressa saw that John was touching his left hand's ring finger. She could not help but be saddened by talk of his first love.

"I worked playing the pipe organ for churches by day and playing piano in restaurants in the evenings. I brought home flowers from the tables of the restaurants every night. Eliza would set them on a table by the door (in our house that I couldn't afford) and she would kiss me before taking them up again. I was five and twenty when we were married, we struggled for two years before I finally sold an opera.

"I had received a note during my night shift from someone at the London Opera House. I left to meet them an hour later. They wanted to produce my opera. I accepted in a state of awe and he handed me a cheque for some obscene amount of money. I darted out of the restaurant and ran home as I stuffed the cheque in my pocket.

"When I arrived, Eliza was not there to greet me as she had been everyday before. I called out her name, but she was not there. I searched every room until I arrived at our bedroom. She wasn't there, but I saw something strange out the window. Our linen was strewn about the backyard. I rushed downstairs and out the backdoor, but only billowing white linens met me.

"A neighbor next door called out to me and told me she would come to my door. I walked slowly to answer it. When I had she said that I should sit, but I just wanted to know where Eliza had gone.

"'Please, sir,' she said, 'Sit and I will tell you all.' And so I sat. 'In the afternoon I was talking to Lizzie as she hung clothes. We were talking about something silly and then she just fell.'

"'She fell? Was she hurt; did she break something?' I asked.

"'I sent for an ambulance immediately, because she was unconscious. Then I sent someone to your work to find you, but he returned and told me that you had already left early.'

"'Yes?' I pushed her.

"'They took her to the hospital,' she said.

"Once she had told me which hospital, I found a carriage and set out. As I arrived, I called out to anyone who might know where they had taken her. A physician pulled me aside and sat me down.

"He began by saying that he was the physician that had tended to Elizabeth, and that he had done everything in his power, but she had had an aneurysm in her brain." Tears held in the corners of John's eyes.

"He assured me that her death was instantaneous and that she felt no pain. I was denying everything he said in my mind. I wouldn't believe it.

"'Let me see her now," I asked.

"'Mr. Matri, that's not permitted,' he tried to tell me.

"'You say my wife is dead, then show me my dead wife!' I screamed at him in all my sorrow.

"'Yes, of course. This way.' He led me away, and I walked in silent terror behind him.

"When he put his hand on the doorknob, I remember saying "God, damn you" in a strangled cry. He pushed it open and there she was, covered by a sheet. I pulled it back from her face and saw my dead Eliza. I turned away in time to sick all over the floor.

"'Good God, man!' The physician cried as he ran from the room.

"I crawled over to the table they had placed her upon and stood to look at her once more. I heard myself saying "no" again and again. I touched her face and she was cold and dead and no longer my wife. She was just a shell. I wanted to bolt away, but then I saw the cart beside her. A large, bloody basin was covered by a bloodied rag. I stood, staring at it in horror, wondering what they had done to her.

"The physician returned with a custodian, and he held a mask over his face.

"'What's beneath the rags!' I demanded of him. 'What have you done to her?'

"'Sir,' he began slowly, 'We needed to see if the infant could survive.'"

Caressa gasped in horror.

"I never knew she was carrying our child. I heaved and then ran from the hospital, and back to our home. I wouldn't leave until the day of the funeral. I buried Eliza and the child next to one another. The child was a boy, and so I had them inscribe my own name on his marker." John's body trembled as he spoke.

Caressa placed her hand over his.

"Wait until I have revealed all until you pity me," John said as he removed his hand from hers. "There is still much to tell.

"After they were buried, I practically lived at the opera house, because I couldn't bear to be in our home. The house reminded me too much of her. I would accept any distraction that kept me from the house. The manager would invite me to drink with him, and I found quickly that life was more tolerable with a scotch in my hand. I worked and I drank, and eventually if I wasn't imbibing, I couldn't work. In my stupors, I would awake in the beds of actresses and ballerinas, and sometime the staff. It didn't matter to me, so long as I forgot the morning afterward.

"So I drank and smoked my way into every dark addiction that the underworld offers. If you wanted to find me, I would have been at the pub, in the opium den, boxing or between some whore's legs."

Caressa moved away from John until she was at the end of the bench.

"I did not lie when I said I was very bad. One night I became so disgruntled and disoriented that I set my own home on fire. It burned along with most of my possessions. The only things I managed to save were Eliza's wedding gown and our photos. Not even that stopped me. I left the country for the Roman Opera House, where they would not know my antics, and I began again with my debauchery. I was my father's legacy made flesh. I gambled or boxed each night and found that my winnings meant nothing because I valued nothing.

"As soon as my work was finished, I made for the pubs and gambling houses, and drank whiskey straight before snorting fistfuls of cocaine and wandering into the whore house. That was my life for three years — until Henri found me." John tried his best to smile at Caressa. "It gets better now, I promise.

"Henri's mother was a woman of loose morals, who was unfortunate enough to be my father's choice one night many years ago. He impregnated Henri's mother two years before his own wife. Henri's mother remembered my father's name for whatever reason, and eventually Henri sought him out. His mother had been ill and Henri required money for her bills. He was proud, but desperate. Now, as would be expected from anyone who truly knew my father, he refused him. Henri had travelled all the way to London, and he told me that our father laughed in his face. Before he shut the door, my father told Henri in a joking manner that he might try his Bohemian brother in Italy.

"Henri hunted me down once he had learned that I was rather famous, and he discovered that I was employed in Rome at the time. After being told at the opera house where I was probably out drinking, he found me unconscious, nearly drowning in the gutter. He brought me back to his hotel and cared for me. When I awoke in the morning, I thought I had paid a man to sleep with me; which was not entirely surprising. He then explained his situation to me.

"'A brother!' I recall exclaiming. 'I'd be surprised if every Parisian man your age wasn't my brother! My father has slept with every whore in France.'

"Henri slapped me hard across the face, before reminding me of the urgency of his situation. His mother was dying and he showed me the bills. He explained that he would repay me, but the money was necessary at that moment. Money was nothing to me, and so I cut him a cheque for twice as much as he was asking.

"'When she is better, or if she passes—come back here to Rome, and I will have a position made for you at the opera house,' I had instructed him. 'Make your mother comfortable. Consider the money an advance.'

"Once he was gone, I returned to my life as if nothing had happened, and I half expected never to see him again. But when Henri's mother died, he returned." John laughed. "He was merciless in his pursuit to turn me back into the man I had been in my youth. He would tie me to my bed or lock me in my room, and then he would pour out bottle after bottle of alcohol. This was his work as my assistant. He escorted me to work and then back to my apartment. When women came to call, he would send them away. He combed every inch of my home looking for cocaine and opium, and I would rage at him when I found that my possessions were gone.

"Eventually, though, I began to thank him, and we would travel through Rome as equally sober brothers. I discovered his love of poetry and asked him to write the libretto for our first mutual effort. After a year I stopped fighting him and accepted that he had saved me from a terrible life. A life that had begun to have meaning again, and I saw Eliza's husband in the mirror once more. It has been seven years since I have indulged in any vices. Seven years of a simple, but good life working alongside my brother. After a three year deviation, I was helped back onto the path of a honorable man." John finished and gazed at Caressa in anticipation.

She stood and walked to the door. "We'll talk tomorrow. I don't know what to say to you now." And then she slipped out through the door.

John slumped over the console and cursed himself.

* * *

Twenty-two hours after his abduction of Heinrich, the Phantom stepped back from his victim and surveyed his work. The metallic scent of blood was thick in the air. He revelled in it and looked down at his hands. The dark red liquid covered them, and he went to the lake to rinse them. As he ran his hands through the water, he registered the muffled cries of Heinrich as he regained consciousness. The Phantom returned to his side, and removed the glove from his mouth slowly.

"Kill me, please, kill me," Heinrich pleaded pathetically.

The Phantom took in the sharp fear in the man's eyes. He reeked of blood, sweat and urine. Heinrich had transformed into a being comprised of only fear and pain, but still he did not see.

"You misunderstand, boy. This isn't about death, this is about vengeance," The Phantom explained, fashioning yet another tourniquet and taking up his scalpel.

"Why can't I feel my face?" Heinrich shouted in his terror.

The Phantom considered the face before him. Heinrich bore a striking visage; he had fine eyes, and a chiseled jaw. He had been perfectly symmetrical and unfairly handsome. The Phantom easily saw the Vicomte in this man's face. And so it made what he was about to do, all the more thrilling.

"Because I've injected it with morphine. I don't want you to lose consciousness again."

"All this for that whore! All this over Meg Giry!" Heinrich continued to shout.

After stiffening, the Phantom composed himself so that he would not slice Heinrich's throat open.

"The last twelve hours have been for your crimes against Caressa," The Phantom reminded him.

"My sweet sister. Forgive, my sweet sister," he whispered in his delirium.

Erik brought his fists down harshly on Heinrich's gut before shoving the glove back into his mouth. Heinrich whimpered and choked.

* * *

A few hours later, in the middle of the night, Erik disposed of Heinrich. Immediately afterward he wrote the bloody note he had promised Meg, and then he made his way up into the opera house to deliver it to her.

He entered her room, and found her sleeping. Once he had locked the door behind him, he approached her bed. He reached down to set the note by her head, and her eyes opened.

Erik gripped her mouth and she gagged at the smell of blood coming from him. When she realized that it was him, she calmed and he removed his hand.

Meg wiped at her mouth and discovered blood was smeared across her face. She lit the lamp next to her bed and viewed Erik.

He was drenched in blood. His hands, his red death mask, his shirt and trousers.

"It's done," he informed her.

"I might have guessed," Meg responded.

"May I sit?" Erik asked, as he did, he sank to the floor.

Meg watched his blood-soaked knees dig into her carpet in horror.

"ERIK! My carpet!" Meg shouted.

He looked down in fatigue and then rose quickly to his feet. "I apologize, Meg." Without further intercourse, he walked into her bathroom and Meg heard a clambering before all was silent.

She followed him and found him lying in her bathtub.

"What happened?" Meg wondered, worried that some of the blood on Erik may have been his own.

"Twenty-eight hours consecutively—I tortured him," Erik explained. "I have exhausted myself."

"Twenty-eight hours? Did he bleed out? What did you do?" Meg asked out of morbid curiosity.

"After 28 hours, I took him to the hospital," Erik whispered.

Meg twitched. "What! You took him to the hospital? I thought you said you had finished him?" The ballerina felt she had been cheated after Erik had assured her of the horrors he would unleash.

Erik chuckled. "Trust me, he's finished." He began tugging at the buttons on his shirt, before tearing them off in a flash of strength.

"Then tell me what you've done," Meg demanded.

"Help me get this damned thing off and I'll tell you." Erik leaned forward and with Meg's help, they removed his bloodied shirt. "Wait, go put that on the fire."

Meg sighed, but did so, and then returned.

"All right, first I explained to him what he was being punished for very clearly. I tied his limbs down to a table, taunted him for a few hours, and then began with his fingers—"

"Did you break them?" Meg interjected.

"Shall I tell you or do you want to guess all night?" Meg shrugged at this. "I severed both his index and middle fingers from his left hand. Then I removed his corresponding digits on his left foot. After he regained consciousness, I sliced off his right ear, and then I cut out his right eye, also leaving wounds across his face that will be sure to scar. The last operation I performed was his castration, as he deserved." Erik turned to view Meg's look of disgust, but found her nodding instead.

"You disfigured him."

"It was the only punishment I knew would befit him. He will never be able to show his face to the world. He is a monster inside and out now; if there is no infection. All of my work was for naught if he turns septic and his body begins to rot. But either way, what's done is done." Erik began to unbutton his trousers lazily.

"Thank you, Erik." Meg thought on Heinrich's punishment. Erik had attempted to make him as ugly as he saw himself. "Let me help you." Meg reached into the bathtub and finished the unbuttoning. Her hands came away full of blood. She pulled off his shoes and socks and threw them on the fire. When she returned, Erik had pushed off his trousers.

"Those as well. I'll keep my underthings." As Erik spoke, his head rested against the tub.

Meg burned the last garment and returned to run the water. Erik was all but asleep. She turned the faucet on and he jolted awake at the water on his feet. She let it run until the water covered his ankles, and then she began to wash him. It felt like bathing a muddy child, as Meg had often helped bathe the younger girls. She would not turn away the man who had just done her such a grotesque favour.

She used an old rag to wash the blood from his skin. She began with his shoulders, and worked her way downward. His body was strong and hard to her touch, even as he reclined. When she brought the cloth over his abdomen, Meg realized it was indeed not like bathing a child. She found it difficult to tear her eyes from the muscles and scars there. She also found that white breeches made little difference under water.

Meg let the filthy water out, and refilled the bath with clean water again. She went to remove the red death mask, but Erik snatched her wrist.

"Not my mask," he begged her.

"I have seen your face before, Erik, please?" Meg reasoned.

Erik slowly brought his hand to his face and let the mask drop forward into the water. Meg carefully washed the blood from his face.

"Thank you, Meg," Erik told her as he stayed her hand. "My friend."

Meg grinned and continued washing him. When she had finished, she helped him into her bed. She watched him for a few moments before looking down at the floor.

"Oh, my carpet!"

* * *

The next morning, Erik awoke in a luxurious bed, with sunlight streaming in across his face. He sat up to find himself naked, and with Meg Giry standing at the foot of the bed.

"I've dried your underclothes, and brought you some garments from the costume room. I must advise that you leave soon, because my mother could be here at any moment." Meg informed him before leaving the room and waiting outside.

Erik dressed and as he left, Meg caught him by the arm. He turned is surprise and saw that she held up his mask.

"You might be needing this."


	19. Christine

Reviews are most welcome.

* * *

**Chapter 19: Christine**

The day after John had informed Caressa of his grim past, she sulked and read silently in her room until Christophe let her know that John had gone out. To her, it was a painfully long and uneventful day. If only she had known of the horrors going on in the darkness beneath the opera house.

The following morning, she awoke to find Christophe slipping on his coat.

"Are you off then?" She asked him, throwing off her sheets.

"Yes, I usually meet Matteo for breakfast," her brother explained.

"Are you truly that interested in working for nothing?" She continued.

Christophe sighed. "I enjoy being useful, and I can put myself out of your way. You don't deserve to have to care for me. Mother shunned me, then Heinrich, but you would have me. I don't want to get under your feet. You carry so many burdens and I do not wish to be another. Working with Matteo keeps me away." The boy looked downward timidly.

Caressa's eyebrows came together in pity. "Oh, Christophe," she whispered and then caught him in her arms. She rocked him back and forth while kissing the crown of his head. "I love you more than you could guess, and I will never to abandon you to the next person down the line. I will do all that I can and more to keep you from harm. Your mother has not responded to any of my letters, and as such, I assume she does not oppose that you're staying with me."

Christophe smiled up at her.

Caressa raised an eyebrow. "But you need to go back to school. Or at the very least you need a tutor. Either option is open to us, as I am to begin receiving a monthly salary."

A sour look appeared on the boy's face. "I wasn't fond of school, and I'm not fond of Parisian tutors."

"We mustn't talk of it now, but I will see you brought up as a gentleman," Caressa laughed, and pinched her brother's nose. "Now you go and look after the corps."

He blushed. "I don't mean to, but they're there."

Caressa laughed again. "Just stay close to Matteo and be careful. Do you have your knife?"

Christophe opened his coat, revealing the handle of his dagger. "I never leave this room without it, and you?"

His sister walked to her bedside table and removed a sheath containing a long, thin stiletto from the bottom drawer. Christophe had given it to her two nights pior as a birthday gift. When she had asked him where it came from, he told her that he stole it from a boy at boarding school. He further explained that she may need to use it, and should never be afraid to. She had been disheartened by her younger brother's exposure to weapons and thievery, but she decided that in the end it had helped to ease her wariness.

"Carry it with you," he instructed her and opened the door.

"Wait! I may not be here when you return. If I'm not, stay here or go to Madame Giry's room. Don't speak to John," she whispered her last instruction.

Christophe looked out toward John's bedroom awkwardly. "Why not?"

"Because I asked you not to," was all that she was able to reply with.

He shrugged and was out the door.

Caressa could not bear to wait until John would knock on her door. He would surely wish to speak with her about her feelings concerning the previous night, but she could not think of a single thing to say to him. She was appalled and thought him to be an entirely different person than she had previously conceived. He was a self-admitted drunk, a drug addict, a gambler and a womanizer. Even if it was in his past, what was it supposed to mean to her?

She rummaged through her side table for the Vicomtesse's card and pulled it out. _I need to get out of this opera house,_ she thought.

Caressa commenced dressing in her finest day gown and then she styled her hair as best she could. She glanced at the mirror and smoothed her skirt; she hoped she was presentable enough for a Vicomtesse. Her forget-me-not blue gown was styled simply, but made of fine silk. Pretty white lace ran around her elbows and collar. Her hair was up and off of her neck and decorated with a small silver comb—the only one she possessed that had not been destroyed by Erik.

Gazing into the mirror, Caressa raised her chin and breathed deeply; she was trying to work up the courage to walk out of the Populaire and call a handsom that would take her to Christine Daae. She took one last deep breath and let it push out of her lungs. She winced at the pain in her ribcage and realized that she needed to go at once.

She took up her parasol, concealed her new dagger within her skirts, and pulled open her door.

John was leaning against the doorframe to his office. He had removed his jacket and vest, and was wearing only a shirt and trousers, as he had two nights before. She wondered if they were the same clothes, but they appeared too fresh for that to be so. His suspenders rested uselessly against his thighs. His arms were folded over his chest and he appeared to be in deep thought. When he saw Caressa exit her room, he stood up straight and dropped his arms.

They stood silently for a few moments until John realized she wasn't going to speak to him at the moment.

"It was seven years ago," was all John could seem to tell her. The tone in his voice conveyed a sense of John speaking of someone long dead. Caressa registered his ebbing pain, and wished to tell him that she did not care what he had done in his past. But she would not lie to him.

His mouth worked, but nothing came out. Caressa watched his lips and saw a beard forming. His auburn hair was disheveled, and lying limply across his eyes._ Those eyes_, she thought as she viewed the gray orbs beneath,_ As severe as Erik's eyes can be, John's can be equally tender._

Everything in his manner bore his unwillingness to force an answer from her. Caressa began to smile.

However, the image of John between a whore's legs conjured itself in her head.

"I'm going out," she announced and nearly ran for the door.

"Someone should go with you," John called after her.

"I'll find someone else," Caressa retorted back over her shoulder.

Her last statement tore her apart to utter, but she was so angry that it seemed like everyone in her life turned out to be a liar or something far worse. John had been the only one who told her the truth, yet she was as infuriated with him as she had been when she discovered that not only had Jacqueline been with Heinrich, but Meg as well.

"Meg!" Caressa gasped suddenly. She had wanted a companion for the ride to the Vicomte de Chagny's chateau, and bringing Christine's dear friend would surely be better than dragging Reinette along. Caressa ventured to Meg's room, but she was out. Then she tried the dormitories, and found Meg addressing the corps.

"The Madame requires your audience in the theatre," Meg announced, "Go on, all of you, before she becomes distraught."

Caressa watched her former peers trudge out toward the stage, angry to be deprived of their Sunday off. A few of them shot her glances of contempt, while others waved. She smiled and waved back. She felt like a bird with clipped wings; the others could fly, but she was locked out in the coup.

"Meg, may I speak with you?" Caressa wondered after the girls had all gone.

"Of course." Meg took her arm and walked toward the lobby.

Caressa tried desperately to form a sound plan. "Well, I wanted to go out, but no one else could spare their time. You know how your mother doesn't want me to go out on my own, so I was wondering if you would like to come along with me?"

Meg paused and smiled. "Where are we going?"

"Let me surprise you," Caressa replied.

Meg appeared worried for a moment before speaking, "Would you still go if I said I had other plans?"

Caressa nodded.

"Then I don't see what choice I have. Stay here, and I'll go fetch a coat." And Meg sped off toward her room.

While Meg was gone, Caressa called for a carriage, and required it to wait. Once Meg returned, they set off toward the chateau.

"Why won't you tell me where we're going, Caressa?" Meg attempted again.

Caressa fidgeted. "If I told you, it would ruin the surprise. Besides, I wanted someone that I can trust to come with me."

This warmed Meg's heart, and she took Caressa's hand. "How was your birthday?"

An exasperated noise escaped Caressa. "It was grand, then wretched, then very good, then very bad again."

"It sounds like it was a full day," Meg remarked.

Caressa nodded. "Far too full. John invited Reinette and I out to lunch, but Heinrich was at the restaurant and I made a scene. We arrived back at the opera and John asked me to accompany him to the masquerade. After that the performance went wonderfully, and I convinced Maugnaut to begin paying me 10,000 francs a month—" At this, Meg's eyes grew wide. "Then we celebrated the night, and I went to bed."

"You said something else very bad had happened, Caressa," Meg reminded her.

Caressa played with her skirt for a moment, then asked, "Do you know about John's past? Before he...?"

A grimace formed on Meg's face. "Did mother tell you about that?"

Caressa shook her head. "No, he told me himself. He wanted to tell me before anyone else could, and he painted a rather vivid portrait, I'm afraid." She could not stop the tale from replaying in her head.

"Who he is now is a result of the harrowing nature of who he was those many years ago, and I trust he will never be that man again. John will always be the best of men now, because he knows what it's like to be the worst." Meg paused as she viewed Caressa's confusion. "I'm not going to say that his past doesn't matter, because it made him the repentant man he is today. It has made him careful and kind, and forthright. His greatest fear is becoming the man he was seven years ago. It would undo his life."

Caressa sighed. "I don't know why it has me this upset, anyhow. John is just the composer of the next opera."

It was Meg's turn to be exasperated. "You are quite taken with him. I think he's the first man I've seen you take a shine to, and as far as I can tell you seem to be thinking of him a great deal more than a mere acquaintance would do." Meg glanced out of the window in a morose manner, and whispered, "I know what that's like."

Caressa looked down in shame. "Is it so obvious? Have I worn my affections so plainly?"

Meg nodded.

"Well, how could I ignore him? He is so kind, and so very handsome. My body has trouble containing my soul when he is near. I'm not sure that I've ever cared for anyone in that manner before. I'm not sure what _love_ feels like, but if this is it, I'm glad that I am starting to feel it for him." Caressa's cheeks flushed. "He rescued me that night." She smiled and almost giggled. "And he has asked me to be Belle in his opera."

Her companion remained quiet, prepared to listen.

"Until last night, I felt as if I always wanted him to be near me. I have thought that I want him to kiss me; I want to know what it would feel like. I want to know what all of the other girls seem to know so well. I want him to call me Carolina." She recalled the first time she had seen John at his piano, the day they were properly introduced. "And I still want all of those things. I don't care about what happened seven years ago." It was very unexpected, but in that moment she truly did not care about his past. She remembered her strongest feelings toward him and her cheeks began to redden once more.

Meg saw Caressa's face light up. She blushed and smiled. "You really do care for him," Meg told her plainly. This pleased Meg, as she was happy for Caressa, and believed she deserve something good in her life. Then she thought of Erik and his pains to win Caressa's heart. After the grotesque favour he had done for her, she would in no way attempt to force Caressa and John apart, but neither would she sway her toward him.

"I do—I think I do. It's so silly, not knowing what I feel, but I believe it's good to feel it," Caressa nodded with determination. "Perhaps I shall find courage to share my feelings with him when we return to the opera house."

"Very well, now tell me where we are headed," Meg asked suddenly.

Caressa's eyes darted about the compartment in hesitation.

"Is it not a place I would go to by myself?" Meg wondered, and continued to stare at her protégé.

"After the performance the other night, when I told you that I had something to attend to. . . I was in fact meeting with the poster of a mysterious note—" Before Caressa could go on, Meg interrupted.

"After all that he's done and mother's attempts to keep you safe you would do such a thing?" Meg rolled her eyes in exasperation. "Erik could have snatched you away."

"It was the Vicomtesse," Caressa blurted out.

Meg's face grew white.

"It was she who sent the note, and met with me two nights ago. She asked me to come to her when I could. I felt as if I should not delay her," she spoke softly, not wishing to further upset Meg.

The older woman's head shook back and forth for a moment before she spoke, "I cannot go with you. Christine and I did not part well. I admit that it was very much my fault, and she does not wish to see me."

Meg tapped the roof of the carriage and called out for the cabby to stop.

"I thought it would help for her to see a familiar face; that it would put her at ease," Caressa attempted to stop Meg.

Her companion lunged forward at her in a manner very unlike Meg, and spoke in a biting whisper, "I imagine you didn't think at all. You were too afraid to go alone, so you dragged me into it." After this outburst, Meg calmed. "You are afraid of what she will tell you; of how much danger you are truly in, and I sympathize. But I will not go with you to meet her, those scars run too deep."

The carriage had stopped, and the cabby opened the door for Meg. Meg placed her right foot on the small set of stairs and looked back at Caressa for a moment.

"I am sorry," was all she managed to say before the door was closed and Caressa was alone.

* * *

The carriage ride went on for quite some time, and Caressa was able to view the changes in the scenery from the small windows. There was a sprawling city, then there were larger houses with a few acres of land, and then there were plains of farming land. As the ride progressed, she watched as they turned onto a finely bricked road. In the far distance, a white dot appeared. As the carriage drew closer, she was sure that they were approaching the Chateau de Chagny.

Beautiful grounds surrounded the home, and she felt that the Royal Gardens were put to shame by the de Chagny flowerbeds and foliage. Before she could gather her wits, the door was being opened for her, and the cabby was ushering her out. She handed him a large purse and begged that he wait for her while she took care of business inside. The cabby nodded and climbed into the carriage before lying down across the seats.

Caressa stared at him in annoyance before turning toward the front doors of the Chateau de Chagny. They were large and perfectly white, she felt her rapping knuckles might dirty their pristine visage, and so she was glad to see a cord for the doorbell.

She pulled it twice in quick succession. Almost immediately, a houseman opened the doors. He looked at her with equal parts confusion and suspicion.

"The Vicomte has already given generously to charities, mademoiselle. Try your luck elsewhere," he told her snidely, and began closing the door.

Offended by his remark on her appearance, Caressa grasped the door with her hand to hold it open. "The Vicomtesse de Chagny called upon me, and asked that I visit her this day."

The houseman glared at her. "Who might I relay is calling?"

"Carolina Bucher," she replied.

A fire of recognition lit behind his eyes, and he opened the door wide for her to enter. "My apologies, Mademoiselle Bucher. The Vicomtesse indeed told me to expect you, but hardly so soon." He led her inside to a sitting room before continuing. "She informed me that you might arrive in such a state of disguise. Indeed, your rags are convincing," he said this as if to applaud her skills of deception, and she forced herself to choke back a vile retort.

A pathetic and vain anger surged throughout Caressa's body. _Is my very best gown really so hideous? _she wondered to herself.

"Of course, I could not arrive dressed as myself," she began weakly, "Perhaps then I would have been followed, and our matters are quite private."

"I will go to the Vicomtesse now, and inform her that you are waiting," the houseman told her, and bowed curtly before he left.

She circled the room as she waited, examining the fine velvet and damask furniture. There was a narrow bookshelf on one wall, and she found herself drawn to it. She pulled out _The Count of Monte Cristo_, opened it toward the end, and read.

_"Oh, Valentine, he asks if I love him. Valentine, tell him if you love Maximilian." The count felt his heart dilate and throb; he opened his arms, and Haidee, uttering a cry, sprang into them. "Oh, yes," she cried, "I do love you! I love you as one loves a father, brother, husband! I love you as my life, for you are the best, the noblest of created beings!"_

This passage was one of her favourites, and as she was reading it, she did not sense the figure approaching her from behind. Suddenly, a large hand clasped over her eyes. She spun around in shock to see a handsome man with his blond hair in a queue and his waistcoat mostly unbuttoned. He was equally as surprised as her, and undeniably more embarrassed.

He stuttered for a moment, "You must forgive me, mademoiselle, I thought you were my wife from behind." His apology was sincere, but Caressa took an unexpected blow at the comparison of her and the Vicomtesse.

She curtsied to him, and replied, "There is nothing to forgive, Vicomte. I should not have been standing so carelessly."

The Vicomte flicked his wrist through the air in a very commonplace gesture that she took to mean "don't worry about it."

"I am here to meet with the Vicomtesse," Caressa explained. "Your houseman has just gone to let her know I have arrived."

"And who might you be? I'm sorry, but I don't recall being acquainted with you." He was apologetic in his ignorance, and Caressa found it endearing, though strangely lacking in noble gravitas.

"My name is Caressa Bucher, Vicomte. We have not met before this day," she informed him, and saw that his mind was set at ease.

The Vicomte looked down at his open waistcoat and began doing the buttons. "Well, I feel I should not forget this meeting." As he finished the last buttoned, he glanced up at her and said, "I don't often make such a fool out of myself, but I when I do, I remember." He gave an honest laugh, and placed a hand on the doorframe.

Caressa could not help but laugh as well, she could also see that charm and kindness came easily to Raoul de Chagny.

"My wife should be along shortly, and I have little ones to be looking after. If you'll excuse me, Mademoiselle Bucher," as he was saying this, Caressa saw a pretty little child peak her head around the corner. She waved and the "little one" disappeared. The Vicomte and Vicomtesse had made a beautiful little girl.

She curtsied to the Vicomte as he quit the room.

After some fidgeting on Caressa's part, she took a seat on a plump, golden damask love seat. She sank back into it, and was pleased by the amount of comfort it provided.

"Mademoiselle Bucher, I had not expected you so soon," the Vicomtesse told her as she entered the sitting room.

Caressa was in awe of the elegance that the Vicomtesse possessed. Her every attribute was perfectly attended to, she looked every bit a true angel. Compared to Christine, Caressa was indeed clothed in rags.

She stood up and curtsied. "I thought it was best to come as soon as possible, Vicomtesse. Matters within the opera house have become very difficult."

"I understand," the Vicomtesse responded. "Please sit, Carolina."

Caressa did as she was told. "Please call me Caressa, it is how my friends know me."

"Of course, Caressa," the Vicomtesse nodded. "Then you must call me Christine."

Fear raised in Caressa as the woman across from her said this. When she thought of her as the Vicomtesse de Chagny, it somehow removed her from the circumstances at the opera. Caressa felt a strength and wisdom about the older woman. But to think of her as Christine Daae revealed a danger and vulnerability.

"I could not call you that," Caressa mumbled.

Christine leaned across to her, and took her hand. "We two have shared an experience that makes us closer than just our names, Caressa."

A firmness in Christine's hand returned some of Caressa's courage.

"What would Erik say if he saw us together?" Caressa laughed.

Christine felt a stiff chill run down her spine, and answered, "I would hardly care to discover the answer to that." She paused. "You must put yourself at ease before we discuss. . . Him. Now tell me, what has been going on at the opera house these past seven years?"

Caressa was relaxed by Christine's congeniality, and began telling her all she could think of. "Well, the current opera is _Carmen, _but you know that. The managers have changed since the fire, Monsieur Maugnaut and Monsieur . . . I cannot recall his partner's name, but they own the opera now as well. Carlotta had been hired back with some absurd amount of money. When she returned, after what happened to Piangi, many patrons decided to support her and returned as well. Madame Giry and her daughter were rehired to teach us ballet—"

"You are a ballerina?" Christine interrupted.

"It is my greatest passion, I was in the corps. Madame Giry was going to make me a principal before Erik . . . intervened," Caressa explained ruefully.

Christine sat back against her sofa. "I think we shall discover that the two of us are more similar than we previously imagined."

Caressa nodded in agreement.

"Please, tell me about yourself?" Christine inquired.

"I was born in Italy 16 years ago to an Italian father and a Spanish mother. My mother passed away following my birth, and my father died a few weeks ago. From the age of four, I was trained in ballet, and at ten I travelled to the Opera Populaire. Madame Giry watched over me, and I worked very hard. I was always obliging and obedient. I liked to dance, to be with my friends and read books, that was enough to make me happy." Caressa drew in a deep breath. "But then . . ."

"_Then_ what?" Christine pushed her.

"Then I was singing for my friends one night; songs that Madame Giry had forbidden. And we snuck into the soprano dressing room, though it has been "renovated" since the fire. We were trying to scare ourselves for fun, but I was somehow locked inside by myself." Caressa averted her eyes. "That was the first time that he came to me. He used chloroform to render me unconscious, and then left me safely on the stage afterwards.

"The next day he made his intentions to teach me to sing clear, and I refused him outright. Then he forced the managers to replace Carlotta with me; he threatened them. They refused to help me as it would reflect poorly on the opera house. I couldn't go to the police because they would have thought me to be mad. Erik ordered that I be moved from the dormitory to your old dressing room. He came to me then and spoke for the first time. His tremulous voice, it was both magnificent and commanding," Caressa paused as she saw how this affected Christine.

There was a clear and sad reminiscence in Christine's face.

Christine felt the stiff chills she had experienced earlier coursing throughout her entire body, and she felt a sob trying to force itself from her throat. She fought it back and asked for Caressa to continue. _I must be strong for this girl, _she reminded herself.

"The next day was the first time that he resorted to violence against me. I was late retrieving some items for him, and he grasped me by the back of the neck and hurled me into a wall—"

Christine gasped at this. She had suffered violence from the Phantom only once, when she had removed his mask. She believed that event to have been her own fault.

"— That was not so very bad, Christine," Caressa tried using the Vicomtesse's name for the first time. "After that, he was only stern, if not kind. Eventually, I was comforted and entranced by his voice and presence. For a month, he taught me and we were friends. . . I thought we were. Then my father died and my little brother came to stay with me. And my elder brother did something . . . unspeakable; far worse than anything that Erik has put me through. My world was changing and falling apart. I had hoped that Erik would have been a haven in the storm, but he was not there when I needed him the most. . . He promised me."

She stopped and wiped a stray tear from the corner of her eye.

Then a small smile pulled up at the corners of her mouth. "Someone else was there for me."

Christine recognized the smile on Caressa's face. "Does this someone have a name, my dear?"

Caressa blushed, embarrassed at her transparency, and spoke quietly, "His name is John Matri. He is a composer from London."

"Is Erik aware of your affections for Monsieur Matri?" Christine wondered.

Caressa swallowed loudly. "I hardly know of my affections, but yes, I believe it was my interest in John that caused the rift between Erik and I. You see, Erik had a very strict rule that I was not allowed to speak to another man unless he approved, which he never did. I was foolish and was going to allow John to escort me to rehearsals. Erik was very angry with me." Caressa's voice grew louder and more animated as she continued, "He ripped at my corset laces as hard as he could, and you must know how very strong he is. I could feel my bones and organs crushing together, but he would not stop. One of my ribs is broken, and the bruises are grotesque."

Christine brought her hand to her mouth in horror. _This poor child,_ she thought, _The Phantom's madness has only grown._

"I have not seen him since that day. Madame Giry has forbidden him to come near me, but I don't know how long that will stop him. I live in fear of him, and I know that he has entry to my new room. He can somehow sneak passed the gendarmes at the entrance and into the suite," Caressa revealed with dread.

Christine leaned forward once more and grasped Caressa's hand. "You must leave the opera house at once! You must go far away from him. Take your little brother and leave before he kills someone, because he will, Caressa, he will. I am haunted by the images of his fury and vengeance, but you may still have a chance to avoid such terror."

This sincere warning weighed heavily on Caressa. She had considered running, however — "The opera is my home. I have no other place in the world. I've only just had a salary arranged, and if I run, I will never see it. I would have gone just after he broke my rib, but I need to stay for my brother Christophe. Somehow I've found myself as his only guardian. His mother has disappeared. Until I can save enough money to send him to school, I must stay for him," Caressa explained in despair.

The Vicomtesse's eyes closed in thought. "You must come to stay with me in the chateau," she ordered.

Caressa shook her head violently at this suggestion. "I would never put you and your family in such danger, Christine. Your horror has ended, I will prevent you from ever being haunted by him again."

Christine was both saddened and relieved to hear this.

"If you will not come, then at the very least, send your brother to us. I will have the Vicomte write to the Administrator of the _Paris Academie_, and Christophe will be safe there. It is the finest school in France," Christine pleaded for consent to do this small deed. "There is no sense declining this offer, if you truly wish to keep him from harm."

Caressa had never considered that the Vicomtesse would be so generous when she had told her she wished to help her. Never in her lifetime could she afford to send Christophe to the _Paris Academie_. He would be safe from Erik; she would know he was far away and out of danger.

"Christine, I could never accept such a gift," she whispered weakly.

"It is for your brother. You must promise to send him here within the week, before he becomes leverage in the Phantom's games," Christine instructed.

Caressa nodded. "I promise that I will send him, and I am eternally grateful to you. But what am I to tell him?"

"You should explain to Christophe that we are somehow related — Cousins on your mother's side. It would help explain why our appearances are so very similar," within her advice, Christine poked fun at Erik's taste, and Caressa found herself chuckling.

"It is funny you should say that, because even your husband mistook me for you before you arrived," Caressa joked.

In turn, Christine added her own lilting laugh. After a few moments of laughter, Caressa saw the same look of sad reminiscence appear on Christine's face that she had noticed earlier.

Christine twisted her hands in the front of her skirt. "What does he say about me?" She asked suddenly.

This caught Caressa off-guard, but she quickly replied, "Nothing." He had never once spoken Christine's name in her presence.

She saw Christine swallow a lump in her throat.

Peculiar emotions emanated from Christine and Caressa could not quite understand. There was definite sadness, but she had been the one who ran from Erik. Why would she be sad that he had never mentioned her?

"Did you love him, Christine?" Caressa inquired bluntly.

Christine's head snapped toward the entrance to the room, looking for her husband, and then back at Caressa.

"Quiet yourself!" Christine hushed her, and continued, "Of course not, Raoul has always held my heart. From the time we were children, Raoul was the only other being I could ever imagine sharing my life and happiness with." She paused and lowered her voice. "However, though the memories are tainted now, I still find a great love for my angel of music. I mean to say, the ethereal and kind being that I thought he was. There is a special place in my heart for the man who was like a father to me, but for any love beyond that, I feel betrayed at the very thought."

Caressa nodded, understanding Christine's position.

After hesitating, Christine asked, "What do you feel for him, Caressa?"

A far off gaze developed on Caressa's face as she considered this question.

"Did you love him?" Christine further questioned.

"Now, since he harmed me and destroyed my dearest possessions, I feel great fear and anger." Her eyes wandered to the bookshelf where _The Count of Monte Cristo _stuck out slightly from where she had returned it. "There was a time when I revered him in the way that a student reveres their master. Then I grew to care for him as if he were a brother or father, but when my real father died, perhaps that was the first there was something more."

It was the first time that Caressa had allowed herself to dwell on such thoughts since her last experience with Erik, and the feelings they caused rattled her.

"He gave me such comfort. There was nothing but gentleness in the way that he held me throughout that night —"

Christine blushed as Caressa revealed this to her.

"— Surely, I felt something more than friendship then. A few days ago, I was rehearsing with him before a performance, and I felt myself aching at his touch. I don't know if that is love, but it the closest thing to love that I have felt for him." When Caressa stopped, she was ashamed by what she had revealed to Christine, as the woman across from her displayed an impossible shade of red on her cheeks.

"Then he has been intimate with you?" Christine muttered awkwardly, not able to meet Caressa's eyes.

"HEAVENS NO!" Caressa gasped. "No intimacy, I assure you. I was a very good girl before all of this, and I plan to be again now that Madame Giry has forbidden him to come near me."

Christine's perked at the sound of her old teacher's name. "Antoinette will protect you the best that she can. The past that she shares with the Phantom is stronger than he likes to admit. He owes her a great deal."

"She has done what she can, but I know I must learn to better protect myself. When you sent me that note, I should not have gone to see you. My only thought should have been that it was him, but I went anyway. I am so foolish." Caressa's head shook with disappointment.

Christine's voice took on a quiet, conspiratorial tone, "In that case, I am glad that you did. Anytime that you need my help, write me here. Post the letters from any box that isn't the _Opera Populaire_'s. Somewhere a few streets away. I will be in Paris on the 28th of May for a fundraiser for the _Paris Orphelinat. _If you must speak with me about anything, we should do it there. Don't come here again, unless you absolutely must; we should not risk it again."

"I agree, but the 28th is the night of the Masquerade Gala, I don't know that I could meet you then," Caressa explained.

Christine's eyes were very serious as they locked with Caressa's, "Come if something has happened."

Vicomte Raoul de Chagny appeared in the doorway. "Madame de Chagny, dinner is about to be served," he announced jovially, in the manner of their houseman. "Will Mademoiselle Bucher be staying?"

Christine gave Caressa an almost unperceivable shake of her head. Raoul did not yet know who Caressa was and what her presence entailed, and Christine wished to keep it that way. To Raoul, Caressa would simply be her cousin.

"I must be going now, Vicomte." Caressa stood. "I thank you and the Vicomtesse kindly for your great hospitality."

The Vicomtesse stood next to her. "I shall see you out."

Raoul bowed to Caressa. "It was our pleasure to accept you into our home. Bonjour, Mademoiselle Bucher," he told her graciously, and then he was gone.

As they approached the front doors, Christine tugged lightly on Caressa's arm and she turned to face her. The Vicomtesse shocked Caressa as she embraced her tightly.

Christine whispered in her ear, "Be safe, and know that whenever your situation appears bleakest — You hold the ace."

When Christine pulled away, her smile was one that held a telling secret.

"Now get back to the opera house before he grows suspicious. Bonjour, Caressa." Christine pulled the door open.

Caressa nodded, and tried to look strong. "Thank you a thousand times, Christine. I shall send Christophe as soon as possible. Bonjour."

The door closed behind Caressa and she stared at the carriage that was luckily still waiting for her. She knew she should have been comforted by Christine's parting advice. . .

. . . But she had no idea what she meant.

* * *

After a long and introspective ride back into the city, Caressa had decided that she would tell Christophe immediately about her plan to send him to her "cousin" Christine.

When she exited the carriage, she thanked the cabby and raced up the stairs to John and Henri's suite to see if Christophe was in their room. She greeted the gendarmes at the entrance to the suite politely, and they happily responded.

She entered in a sheepish manner, hoping that John wasn't still waiting in the doorway. In truth, she wasn't entirely prepared to face him. She wanted to deal with safeguarding Christophe first.

John was nowhere in the sitting room, and so she breathed a sigh of relief.

The sudden opening of a Henri's bedroom nearly made her jump out of her skin. She turned to greet Henri, but saw Matteo the stagehand instead. He was tucking his shirt into his trousers, and did not immediately see that Caressa was there.

Caressa cleared her throat and he started as he looked up at her in alarm. His eyes grew wide, and he turned back to the bedroom door, which remained slightly ajar.

After a moment, Henri emerged slightly dazed, with a cigarette hanging limply between his lips as he tied off his robe. He registered Caressa's presence with a wry smile.

"My brother will be pleased that you've returned; he was worried to the point of nausea." Something in Henri's voice was cold in a way that she had never heard before.

She could not help but be hurt. It was obvious that Henri was angry with her due to his brother's sudden destruction of his libretto. Caressa's confusion over Matteo's presence in Henri's room did not help the situation. Matteo stood in silent discomfort between the two.

When Henri saw the effect his words had on Caressa, he sighed heavily.

"Go on, gorgeous," Henri directed Matteo, and landed a swift smack across his bottom.

Before Matteo could dart out of the room, Caressa saw a look of shame spread across his face.

Henri continued casually, as if Caressa had not just seen him grasp a male stagehand's rear. "I'm going to ask you a question, and I know you'll answer me truthfully, because you're Antoinette's favourite little dancer, and she only favours the good little virgins —"

Caressa's eyes enlarged incredulously.

"— I've been drunk since 2:00am, so forgive me if I seem crass," he murmured as an aside. "Did you tell my brother to butcher my libretto? Now, I know that you didn't, (it's all his fault,) but I have to hear it from your lips, so that I can stop fucking hating you for it, because it's really nonsense. I mean, I'm better than hating a little girl. You're better than being hated." As he spoke, he threw his hands out to the side of him.

For a moment, Caressa stared at him. He only faintly smelled like alcohol, but she could tell he was completely gone.

She slowly took his hand from where it was hanging in the air. "I did not tell John to do anything to your libretto; I thought it was perfect. It hurts me just nearly as mush as it hurts you. I'll never get to sing it. Last night, I even attempted to persuade him against removing most of it," she confessed with a helpful grin on her face.

Henri beamed at her. "You did that for me?" He asked and pulled her closer. "If you keep at it, he'll do anything you want." He glanced over her shoulder at John's bedroom door.

"I don't understa—"

"My brother hasn't looked at a woman in seven years, my little lamb," he breathed in an artful and suggestive way. "Bat your eyes, flash your breasts, but try to make him see reason as clearly as he sees you."

A rapturous warmth flooded Caressa's upper chest when Henri said this.

In her happiness at Henri's request, she agreed to do as he asked, "I will do everything I can to help you, but you must tell me if John has spoken of me."

Henri straightened up, and took a step back from her. He grinned at her and turned his head to the side. "I wouldn't be lying if I told you that he referred to you as delightful young woman." He wagged his eyebrows at her playfully.

Caressa swatted his arm.

"Oh—wah! I'll be honest. He once referred to you an incandescent beauty." He gave her a look as if to say _is that sufficient?_

Caressa nodded. "Thank you."

"Now, I shall retreat into my room, and I shan't tell John you've been asking after him . . . if you don't tell him I've been burying the bone in a stagehand," Henri proposed.

Confusion spread over Caressa's face.

Henri took her chin lightly, winked and muttered, "That's a girl," before withdrawing to his room, and closing the door.

She looked back at Henri's door even as she approached her own. Her hand fumbled in her skirt's pocket for her key, and she felt her fingers slide across her knife in its sheath. She had nearly forgotten it was there. As she opened the door she was disappointed that Christophe was not inside, but she decided that she could spend time refining what she would say to both her little brother and John.

Caressa began unbuttoning her gown and sighed in relief as the pressure left her ribcage. She cradled her side and bit her lip at the pain. Her gown was pushed to the floor before she laid it across the bottom of the bed. She then removed her silver hair comb and placed it in a jewelry box that still functioned as a container, though the ornaments which had once made it beautiful were broken away.

Her arms went to the bottom of her shift with the intention of removing it when she heard a weak cough. She froze in place, and a prickling numb fear began in her feet, spread up her legs and into her chest. Her eyes shot toward her stiletto, which was somewhere in the skirts of her dress on the bed.

She watched in a panic as Erik emerged from the shadows between the corner of the bedstead and the wall. He wore a look in his eyes that she recognized too well, it was the same way that John had looked at her earlier that morning. Through his silence, she realized he was waiting for her to respond to his presence.

"I will scream until my lungs collapse," she told him flatly. "The gendarmes are just outside."

Erik stopped moving toward her. "I would defend myself."

"You would kill them," she accused, and backed further away from him, which was unfortunately further from the door.

"Then I suggest you don't trouble yourself with calling for them." As he spoke, Caressa pulled the chair from the desk and shoved it between them.

Misery tore through Erik as he saw the defensive way that Caressa was acting toward him. He had not truly known what to expect when he saw her again, but he certainly had not been prepared for this.

"How have you been getting in here?" She demanded to know.

Erik shook his head. "I will not tell you that."

Caressa grew more agitated by the calm he was exhibiting. "What do you want from me?"

When he took a step forward, Caressa raised her boot-clad foot swiftly toward the chair. He paused when he realized she was fully prepared to kick it at him.

"I have only come to make amends, Caressa," he told her as softly as he could.

She scoffed, "Don't you think it's a little late for that?" The expanse of time that he had allowed to pass before requesting her forgiveness added more insult to her injury. If he had displayed remorse following the event, perhaps she would have been more inclined to believe him. She found that whatever he had to say would be rather insincere.

He took another step, and Caressa's foot pushed the chair across the floor an inch.

"Perhaps I'm more optimistic than that," he quipped. His hands clutched at the sides of his thighs in apprehension.

He had never seemed so meek in her presence. Caressa suddenly noticed that he was not wearing his cloak, jacket or gloves. She assumed it was his intention to appear humble and less threatening. She was reminded of the night she had found out that her father died, when Erik had clothed her in his jacket.

"You almost look like an ordinary man," she commented stiffly.

Her words cut him, implying that he was more monster than man. "Then I am a stupid man."

Caressa had rarely heard Erik insult himself before, but she was wary that it was all a ploy to lower her defenses.

He cleared his throat, and spoke as earnestly as he could, "There is no excusing how I have hurt you, Caressa."

"No, Erik, there isn't," she agreed. Her body was aching unpleasantly in fear of what he was planning.

"I request, most humbly and respectfully, for your forgiveness for my outrageous injury against you," Erik pleaded with her.

Caressa could hear an ache in his voice. She glanced down, and did not answer him. From the corner of her eye, she saw him shift. When she looked back up he had sunk to his knees before her.

"This is not something that I expect you to give lightly, but consider it, that is all that I ask of you now." His chest heaved with a dreadful suspense. She was wearing a cold expression that he could not read; she was stronger than he remembered.

"My rib is broken," she whispered. "Did you know that? Snapped — like a twig?"

He nodded and bowed his head. "I did."

She ran her hand through her hair and considered what she should do next. "Do you want to see the bruises that you left? The damage that you've done?" She suggested, and then advanced on him, nudging the chair in front of her.

Disgust and shame ran through him at her words. He would not look upon the exquisite flesh that he had tainted. He was suddenly shuffling away from her, and found his back against the door. He covered his eyes with his hands as she reached for the bottom of her shift again.

While he cowered by the door, Caressa was able to rummage in her skirts for her dagger. Once it was hidden behind her back, she turned her attention to Erik. "You won't even look at me?" She bitterly teased him.

"Don't force that sight upon me, I could not survive it!" He cried out remorsefully.

Pity swelled through her as she watched his despair.

"You would have to earn my forgiveness, Erik," Caressa whispered half-heartedly.

He looked up at her with disheveled grin, and bolted up to his feet. Caressa pressed herself nearer to the wall. "I am your obedient servant," he assured her and tried to move closer again.

"Then don't come any nearer," she ordered.

"Anything that you require, it is yours. You need only ask it of me." He was at ease since she had given him the hope that she would soon forgive him.

Her eyes narrowed at him. "I've heard that from you before, so you'll excuse me if I find it difficult to believe."

Caressa's jab landed a vicious blow to Erik's heart. He sank onto the foot of the bed; he had hoped she would not bring this up. "I didn't know what had happened," he breathed. "You didn't tell me."

"What difference does that make!" She barked at him. "If you had known what Heinrich tried to do, would it have stopped you? Or would it have only further incensed your madness?" Caressa's body shook in anger. "If my hands were strong enough, I would crush you beneath them, as you have done to me."

"I should have been there to stop him—"

"You should have! You promised me . . . " Her words dissolved into sobs as she could not help but break down. "It's the worst betrayal — that you would have allowed that to happen. That you weren't there for me when I needed you the most. You only caused me more pain."

Erik's chest ached in despair, and he found tears spilling from his eyes. From somewhere in the back of his mind, a rage was building, brought on by the agony Caressa was causing within him, but he tried to push it back. It was the rage that had caused so many of his hardships.

Caressa slid down the wall, and supported herself on the balls of her feet. "I needed you," she whimpered.

"I have returned your possessions. They are beneath the bed," he told her quietly. He would try anything to stem her cries.

She studied the tears on his face. "Are they safe?"

"As houses," he replied. "And I will replace all that I have destroyed."

"I have grown out of dolls. My clothes were rags, and my books secondhand. I will replace them myself with my new salary," Caressa informed him. It was a weak attempt at flaunting her independence.

Erik stood once more, and Caressa cautiously got to her feet. "If that is what you wish. I have gifts for you—"

"You won't buy forgiveness," she interrupted.

"I had acquired them for you before any of this wickedness began," he continued. Erik bent down beneath the bed and removed a leather case from beneath it.

Her eyes grew wide in unexpected happiness. "Is that my father's violin? The one I'd given to Heinrich?" She asked, barely able to remain where she stood.

"It is." He nodded, and held it gently atop his palms.

A realization came over Caressa's face. "Then you were the one who bought my mother's piano?"

"I purchased them for you. They were delivered a week ago. I had been waiting for your birthday," Erik explained.

This act of kindness did not undo his actions, but Caressa could not help smiling at him. She vaguely realized that Heinrich had already sold the items before he had asked for her permission, but she was hardly surprised.

"I'm not sure that I was entirely right about you being unable to buy my forgiveness." She could not hold in a wavering laugh. "There is nothing I prize more highly than my mother's piano."

A wave of comfort settled over Erik when Caressa laughed.

"It is yours. However, it will take some planning to discover when I can remove it from my home beneath the opera. It is rather large." Erik had hoped to bring her down to his home on the night of her birthday and reveal the piano to her, but fate had not seen fit to allow it.

The smile had not left Caressa's face, and Erik returned the gesture.

He held the box out further. "You may take it."

Slight suspicion returned to her face. "You mustn't touch me, or move toward me."

He nodded his head in compliance. All he wished for was a brush of her hand.

Caressa inched toward the box. The man holding it wore an amused grin on his face, and she chuckled at him despite herself. Her hands gripped the box, but he did not release his hold. "You're impossible," she mocked him.

With a sly smirk, he whispered, "I know," before placing one of his hands over Caressa's on the case.

Erik suddenly felt a prick of pain in his chest. He stared downward and saw that Caressa held a nasty little dagger to his chest. The point of which had pierced through his shirt and just into his skin. A small dot of blood bloomed beneath the dagger's tip.

Sadness flooded his eyes as he looked slowly up to Caressa's face. She grasped the violin case in her left hand, and let it hang at her side.

"I told you not to touch me," she reminded him sheepishly. She suddenly regretted putting the blade between them.

He could not believe that his innocent Caressa was holding a knife to him; clearly it was his turn to feel betrayal.

_HOW DARE SHE! _He raged within. On the outside, his expression was blank, and he did not move forward or back.

Caressa hoped that Erik saw the uncertainty in her eyes. She hoped that he understood that she didn't mean to hurt him, only that she was afraid.

With a flick of his hand, Erik had caught the wrist of the hand that held the dagger, and when she dropped the violin case lightly to the ground to defend herself, he grasped the other. Erik pinned her against the wall as lightly as he could. She struggled slightly, and he found it difficult not to harm her.

"Despite your attempt at violence, and whether or not you forgive me, I will bring your mother's piano to you," he whispered into her face.

She ceased struggling long enough to stare at him. He was immovable, stronger than any force she had known, but she sensed the gentleness of his hands as they encircled her wrists.

"Why are you being so kind?" She begged to know.

He drew his body closer. "I set my wrath upon you, and now you must know of the magnanimity I can also possess."

"I did not ask you to be magnanimous, Erik," she said quietly.

After removing the dagger from her hand and dropping it to the floor, Erik released her wrists. Neither party moved from their position.

Erik calmly brought his hand to rest against her cheek. "Would you settle for tenderness then?" His hand ventured back into her hair, and he let the brown tresses fall over her breast as he returned his hand to his side.

"I would always prefer tenderness from you, Erik," she spoke with a warmth that Erik had not previously heard in her voice. "But tenderness is not something you generally possess."

"I shall be capable of whatever you wish," he implored her.

She recalled her conversation with Christine from a few hours before. "I want the man you were on the night I discovered my father had passed."

He easily recalled that night to his memory, it was the first and only time she had allowed him to hold her somewhat intimately. "Do you wish that I would hold you now as I did then?" He wondered, unsure of her meaning.

"I don't know what I want!" The girl snapped at him. "Shall things always be so complicated?"

Erik raised his eyebrows and nodded. "I have found that is the case."

"I could understand you so clearly that night," she recalled. "All of your narcissism fell away, and I felt as if I was truly with you for the first time It was the only time I have felt at ease in your presence. Unless that was another guise of yours."

No reply came from Erik.

"You make it so hard to know what you want from me, yet you try so fervently to thrust yourself back into my good graces." Her head swelled with conflicting emotions. It was impossible for her to make proper sense out of them. "Why did you become so angry when I accepted John Matri's invitation to escort me to rehearsals?" She wondered.

His nostrils flared at John's name, and he turned his face from her. "I despise that one day he would take you from this place," he admitted. It was a half-truth, but he would not elaborate.

Erik was shocked when Caressa took his hand of her own volition.

"You want me to remain in the opera house? Why do you fear that he would take me away?" She pushed him, wishing he would satisfy her one way or the other with his answers.

His large hands enclosed on either side of her face, and he moved in close to growl, "I have seen the gazes of longing with which he examines you! No one could understand it as well as I do! Even someone as inexperienced and sinless as you must see it!"

"I have seen it from him and sometimes I find myself gazing back," she confessed to him, but regretted it soon after.

The fingers resting on her face flexed, but only for an instant. "Does he entice you, Caressa?" Erik inquired. He rested his forehead against the wall and murmured heatedly into her ear, "Do you find pleasure when the eyes of a man explore you?"

A warm quiver blossomed in her stomach when he spoke.

"At least his intentions are quite clear," she replied, breaking whatever hypnosis he was attempting to put her under. "Within the first day I had met him, he told me I was beautiful. I have yet to hear such words from your lips, but perhaps you think me ugly and only want my voice because of the memories it stirs." She paused for his response, and when he gave none she continued. "John shares my interests, instead of merely forcing his own upon me. He understands my passion for dance, and the important place it holds in my heart. He has changed his entire opera for me."

Erik's eyes widened when she spoke of John's opera.

"You had me singing ancient solos in the dark of night; music that i s so far removed from your own. If I had been graced to look upon one song you had written, no power on earth would have been able to tear my loving heart from your hands."

She felt his body shaking above her. He had trapped her, so she would force him to listen.

"There is nothing so special about me, I suppose. I hardly knew all my life was leading up to being a mere shadow of someone who came before me. So now you ask me to trap myself here, as a shadow, with a man who I now fear more than I love." Caressa hesitated when she heard his weeping. She held his head gently against her shoulder and brushed her hand over his hair. "You must tell me now, Erik . . . do you care for me in the manner that a man admires a woman?" She lifted his head so that she could look into his eyes. His sadness melted any anger she had left. "Or do you regard me in the way that a musician cares for his instrument?"

How could he respond to her? He had never imagined that she would mention Christine in his presence. Caressa was asking him claim her or let her go, and he was beaten with the sensation of loss he had experienced once before. The familiar sorrow stole through him, and he could not contain his tears. He fell to his knees and clung to her, holding his unmasked cheek to her stomach. Tormented whispers fell from his lips and were absorbed into the fabric of her clothing. Soon her shift was moist from where he had been crying. He would not be damned into loneliness again; he could not lose her again. Not again. Christine.

It always came back to Her.

"You are not a shadow," he finally managed to answer. "You are real beneath my hands, unlike so many of the spectres who haunt me. I feel your flesh and hear your voice, and know that you and I are present on this earthly realm. . . together."

Though he had not directly answered her, Caressa found her heart opening to his magnificent words.

He lightly rocked his head against her stomach and very quietly spoke again, "Christine is the shadow."

Hearing Christine's name from his lips shot a pain into her chest.

"You have not answered my question, Erik," Caressa reminded him.

His head continued to rock, and he let out a grunt of frustration. "I want every fibre of you, Caressa. Every strand of your hair and each tear that you shed."

"Why do you want me?" She pressed.

The rocking had not stopped. She felt his hands glide up the back of her legs, stopping just below her shift at mid-thigh. The pressure he had been applying to her stomach with his head increased, and she found herself pinned. As his agitation grew, so did the pressure and she gasped when he shifted onto her broken rib. She tightened her grip on his hair and felt the hairpiece shift beneath her hand. His touch softened.

"Tenderness," she attempted to remind him. Though she was somewhat pinned, it was difficult to balance with his hands gripping her thighs.

His movements stilled. "I fear that my answer will not please you," he admitted into her abdomen.

"Then give me any answer and let's have done with it," she coaxed him, and brushed his cheek.

"I know what you wish I would tell you, but those words died inside of me seven years ago," was his sorrowful reply. He pressed his lips to her stomach, and then her ribcage as he rose up from his knees. His hands roamed upward as he stood, and for an instant Caressa felt them drift across her bottom before they rested against her lower back. Her chest heaved when he placed another kiss lightly atop her breast.

She wanted to beg him to stop, but the lustful sensations coursing throughout her body staid her voice. She had told herself that unless he confessed at least a suggestion of love for her, she would force him to go. However, her resolve had collapsed, and she grasped at the fabric of his waistcoat, pulling him in close while avoiding her rib. Instinctively, she kissed the spot of blood on his shirt.

He caught her against his chest, covered her hair with kisses and declared, "If there is affection left in my heart, it is only for you, my Caressa." And this was his final reply.

Though this was not either of the replies she had truly wanted, Caressa's heart raced when she listened to his passionate admission. She turned her face up toward him and brushed her lips across his jaw. "How you alter me," she teased breathlessly.

His chuckle reverberated against her scalp as he took in the scent of her hair. It was so unreal to him that Caressa accepted his kisses, which were growing more wanton by the second. Bliss swelled inside him, and he began to burst with laughter and tears as he took pleasure in the girl who embraced him as he cradled her. His kisses traveled from the top of her head to her exposed neck, which was softer than any silk that he had ever had the pleasure to touch.

Her sighs served to further awaken the passion within him and without warning he writhed against her.

"You'll crush me again, Erik," Caressa whimpered.

He took this opportunity to pull away from her. "Never," he assured her.

"It seems you have kissed every inch of me aside from my lips, Erik," she tempted him. To hear the sensuous way his name now flowed from her lips shook him at his core.

Erik brushed his unmasked cheek lovingly against Caressa's, then rested his forehead upon hers and told her, "I shall remedy my offense a thousand times."

His mouth approached hers and she closed her eyes to ready herself for her very first kiss.

The divine girl before him shut her eyes and pursed her lips slightly in anticipation. It was the most remarkable gift he had ever received. "You grant me such ecstasy," he whispered as he moved to kiss her virgin lips.

"CARESSA!" A muffled call from the sitting room interrupted him. The offender shook the locked door handle back and forth, and then proceeded to knock loudly. "Caressa, you must come at once!" Madame Giry ordered.

Erik groaned dangerously, and Caressa giggled while placing her fingers to his lips.

"I am indecent!" Caressa called back.

"Indeed you are," Erik whispered softly.

Caressa cuffed his arm and they laughed together quietly.

The Madame spoke again, "Heinrich has been found."

Both Caressa and Erik's laughs died, but for vastly different reasons.


	20. Necessary Evil

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* * *

**Chapter 20: Necessary Evil**

_The Madame spoke again, "Heinrich has been found."_

_Both Caressa and Erik's laughs died, but for vastly different reasons._

* * *

"The police have asked that you accompany them," Madame Giry continued to explain.

The idea of the task repulsed Caressa. "Why must I go with them?" She asked.

Erik tried to pull her attention back to him, to distract her from the Madame's words. Caressa was confused by the worried look on his face.

The Madame had been hesitating for a few moments before she spoke again, "Caressa. . . they have asked for your assistance in identifying him."

Caressa stepped out from the place where Erik had once pinned her to the wall, and she moved toward the door. Erik's hand slipped around her upper arm, and his grip tightened when he thought she planned to admit the Madame. She glanced back at him in bewilderment, but did not try to pull away.

"I thought you said that he had been found. Are they uncertain that its him?" Caressa asked suddenly through the door.

She heard Madame Giry sigh. "His identification was in the clothing of the man that they found, but they could not be entirely sure it was Heinrich," the Madame informed her with a quake in her speech.

As Erik attempted to drag Caressa back to him, an unpleasant churning began in her stomach. He mouthed, "_Don't listen to her_," and she realized that he knew what the Madame was attempting to tell her.

"Why not?" She wondered with anxiety. It was a question that was meant for both the Madame and Erik.

The Madame was the first to answer, "The man they found was. . . He was butchered, Caressa. Entirely disfigured beyond recognition of the photograph the police were given."

This shocking news overcame Caressa, and she slowly turned toward Erik.

He had never seen a pair of eyes so wide and terrified. Her breast heaved and her mouth opened wide, a tell tale sign of what would happen next.

Erik seized her frantically, and held the shriek inside of her. Their moment of intimacy was gone, dashed by the discovery of his depravity. Caressa threw her elbows backward into him as he covered her mouth with one hand, and subdued her with his other arm.

She thrashed as violently as she could manage to free herself. Her ribs throbbed with pain, and she was barely able to breathe against his hand. Every breath she managed to draw in exited her lungs as a muffled cry for help, but none of them appeared to reach the Madame.

Madame Giry was oblivious, she believed that Caressa's silence was brought on by disbelief. "I believe it was Erik, who did this horrible thing," the Madame admitted after a moment.

This earned a twisted grin from Erik's lips. The wolf was already within.

"Shhhh, Caressa. Calm yourself," he whispered into her ear as she flailed. Erik knew the Madame would grow suspicious and he could think of nothing to pacify her swiftly. His first thought was to threaten her, but he would not result to frightening her further. "I committed this act in your honour," he tried to explain.

Her body fell limp in his arms. His hand remained over her mouth for fear that her cries might continue.

At the words "in your honour," Caressa could not continue to fight him. That she should be associated with such a terrible crime was far less than honourable. It was disgusting. It shamed her that he believed she would want such a thing.

The hand over her mouth slowly drifted down to close lightly around her throat. "You must tell Madame Giry you shall be ready in a quarter of an hour," Erik ordered her. "Say what you will to send her away."

He turned so that they were facing the door as he held her. Her back arched against him when he moved, and she pressed her head into his shoulder. His free hand smoothed over her stomach where his head had been resting only moments before; the moisture from his tears remained. When she did not speak immediately, he drummed his fingers across the alabaster skin of her throat.

"I am overcome, Madame," sobbed Caressa in a rasping voice. "Such a hateful cruelty, such madness."

Erik sighed deeply at her words, and attempted to shut out the wrath that would erupt from him if she continued to speak of him with such disappointment and contempt.

After feeling Erik's sigh, Caressa went on, "I require a quarter of an hour to gather my thoughts, and ask that you might kindly fetch Christophe, wherever he may be. He would want to know of Heinrich's death."

"Heinrich is not dead," Madame Giry revealed to her. "He has survived His mutilation."

His instinct to cover Caressa's mouth once more proved useful, as another shriek ripped through her.

"Send her away," he repeated.

After a moment of calming her hysteria, Caressa assured the Madame she was all right and told her to go once more.

Erik waited to act until he heard the main door to the suite close behind Madame Giry.

"What have you done?" She cried quietly when he loosened his grip around her throat.

"I gave him what he deserved," Erik seethed into her ear in a heated whisper.

Caressa attempted to jerk away, but to no avail.

"Does it displease you so that I punished him for what he tried to do to you?" Erik asked. "I only meant to do right by you, and now the deed is done." He could not help but recall the blood and pain of Heinrich fondly.

A harsh gasp escaped her. "Prison is a punishment. A sound thrashing is a punishment. You have destroyed a man!" Caressa wailed.

"How do you defend this man who would have so easily taken something so precious from you, Caressa? A man who beat you before he tried to rape you?" He spun her around in his arms to look at her face as he asked again, "Tell me how you can defend him?"

After a moment of staring at the sincerity in his eyes, she rid the sadness and fear from her voice and answered, "Because it's wrong." She clearly saw that he believed it was justified, and it frightened her.

Erik gave a dry laugh. "If you believe this world is right, and the people in it are always good, then I tell you I have no qualms resisting such fictions." His hand cradled her jaw, and he went on, "You must know by now that people are generally unkind and self-serving, and if you do not, then take your lesson now, my little one. People only do what's right when they believe others are watching, when it benefits them; in darkness and isolation, we transform into different creatures."

"I don't believe that," she timidly whispered, and a single heavy tear spilled down over her cheek.

"You are a bright girl, well read and objective in your observations. Allow me to argue my position." He began before she could reply, "What did Meg do in the darkness with Heinrich? What did Jacqueline do with him? When they knew it was wrong. Even young Christophe has deceived you."

Caressa opened her mouth to respond, fearing that he had been watching the boy.

Erik did not give her time to speak, "I have seen him on the stage whispering with the ginger girl, after telling you lies about going to work. I wonder if they have found their way into the darkness? And furthermore, how cruel was he to convince you that he was mute? He lied to his own sister, who was the only person who would claim and protect him."

Her gaze dropped down to the floor, Erik had voiced the feelings she had carried since the night she discovered Christophe's ability to speak. She believed she had arrived at the very lowest point of despair, but Erik had not quite finished.

"Was your stepmother right when she beat your brother? When she damaged him enough for him to fall into his affected muteness?" Erik pushed, knowing that she would understand his point of view if he mentioned her stepmother. "Was she truly righteous when she beat you?"

He heard her whisper something. "What was that?" He wondered.

She glared up at him and spat, "Shut up." Her eyes were wild, and her beautiful mouth was altered into a sneer, with her teeth bared at him.

He chuckled. "If you could only see how you have transformed. I wonder, how few people have seen this side of you? Am I the only soul who knows how well hatred becomes your pretty face?" He paused and she continued to fume at him, her anger quickly becoming stronger than her fear. "Now tell me again that Heinrich did not deserve the butchering I gave him."

"You have failed to convince me of anything," she told him. "No bitterness I carry could rival the loathing I feel for my former stepmother. Without attempting to, you have put Heinrich's offense into a bleak perspective, and now it does not seem quite as bad as it did before," Caressa revealed this in the hopes that it would shock Erik.

His brow furrowed and he stared down at her in disbelief and confusion. "What did she do to you that would make your hatred so strong? That would put her crimes above all others? I have only seen such abhorrence in my own reflection." He abandoned his attempts to enrage her for a gentler approach. "Sweet and kind Caressa, what could change your goodness to such malice? You once spoke of the night your stepmother broke Christophe—"

Erik pulled her closer and brushed a hand across her cheek and hair. Her sad, angry eyes softened.

"Did she break you in the same way?" He breathed, and hoped that she would answer him.

The look in her eyes subtly changed to something more akin to insanity, and then she spoke, "You assume it was something she did to Christophe that scarred him so, but it was what he saw that night that brought him to silence."

The realization of what Caressa was trying to tell him brought an anxious lump to his throat. "What did he see her do to you?" He asked, dreading her answer, but he needed to know.

"He saw shear madness and horror. He saw then what I see now, when I look at you," Caressa snarled at him and glared dangerously into his eyes. All of her fear had been replaced by loathing, and she discovered it was a powerful substitute for courage.

An aching sorrow throbbed out from Erik's heart into his extremities. He could not abide the look in her eyes; he had never seen their equal. The hatred he had goaded from her was pouring out of them in waves. His attempt to make her understand him had severely backfired.

"Only moments ago you were begging me to kiss your lips," he reminded her.

"That was before I knew you had fresh blood on your hands," she retorted in disgust.

Erik jerked her to the side and thrust her back against one of the bedposts. He gripped her wrists in one of his hand and pinned them above her head, and forced his other hand over her mouth.

"Do you smell the blood now, Caressa? Do you taste it, now that you know it's there?" He shouted wildly in an attempt to match the passion in his companion's eyes. "I proudly bathed my hands in the blood of a wicked man! For both what he has done and what he made attempts to do, he brought his fate upon himself!"

Caressa gagged against his hand and then ceased her attempts to bite him.

He shook his head slowly. "I did not only do this for you. You were not the sole recipient of his cruelties." Erik brought his hand down from Caressa's mouth and gripped her jaw. "Were you aware that he threatened to murder both Jacqueline and Meg Giry?" He revealed to her in his exasperated state. After the words left his mouth he recalled promising Meg he would tell no one.

Caressa's eyes grew wide with surprise. "How do you know that?"

With less than a moment's hesitation, Erik responded, "The wretch told me himself, somehow I drew it out of him, when I had not even asked to know. You would be even more appalled by his other admissions."

"He may be a wretch, and against my better judgement I find myself believing your words — but he is not the one holding me by force," Caressa reminded him. They were nearly nose-to-nose and there was nowhere to look but his eyes.

Her chest heaved, her heart raced and the adrenaline in her blood was aching for action. If he did not release her soon, she feared what she might try to do. She would not be manhandled again, and if that meant hurting Erik, it would not stop her. After a few moments, he did not release his hold on her wrists or jaw, and Caressa began considering what she should do.

The man holding her wondered just how the situation had gotten so wildly out-of-hand. He glanced up to her wrists and saw that her fingers were reddening from lack of blood. It would be so easy to take his hands away, but so very impossible to let her go. When they parted, would he see her again? Would she leave the opera house? Would she forgive him? Would she ever gaze at him longingly again, as she had done only moments before?

"Erik," Caressa whispered suddenly, "You're hurting me."

His hands flexed open for a moment, but only regained their hold. "I can't let you go yet," he moaned.

"What if I promise to return to you after I see to Heinrich?" She asked. The abandonment in his words affected her, and she found it difficult to continue plotting against him. When she spoke, his grip loosened again.

"Why on earth would you return to me?" He growled, irritated by her lies.

When his grasp clenched once more, Caressa was utterly finished with reason. She brought her knee up and into his side as hard as she possibly could, pushing off of the bedpost to add force. The blow was effective enough for him to release her, but only for a moment. In that moment, she dropped to the floor and scrambled beneath the bed.

Erik laughed at her childishness, and held his aching side. "Don't be foolish, Caressa. Come out. . . Lest I drag you out," he warned her.

After a few moments, Caressa rose up from the space between the bed and the wall. The dagger was gripped tightly in her right hand.

"I dare you," she growled.

"I would only take it again, and the serpent would eat its own tail," he replied. Erik was tired of this game, and wished she would calm into the Caressa he knew so well. Why could she not understand that he was trying to protect her?

As Erik stepped toward her, he expected her to extend the dagger, which would only make it easier to take. Unfortunately, Caressa had other ideas.

When he moved, she placed the blade against her own throat.

It was Erik's turn to be horrified. "Caressa! Stop this, I beg you!" He pleaded.

She shook her head. "I may not be strong enough to cut deep, but I'll cut deep enough to ruin any part of me that you want!" She screamed at him. This bluff was the best plan she had cultivated while thinking of a way out of the situation. If he really wanted her, this threat would ward him off.

"Stop this madness!" He begged her, while backing away.

Caressa braced herself as she pressed the knife into her flesh, just enough to break the skin. A drop of blood spilled down her neck and onto her shift.

The sight of her blood caused Erik to shake with pain. He could not believe he had driven her to this. With all of his soul he wanted to rip the dagger from her hand, and cover her wound, but if he tried, he feared she would only continue.

"Did you bleed Heinrich like this?" She questioned him. He was silent. "Tell me!" She ordered, and pressed the side of the dagger further into her throat.

"No, I used tourniquets to minimize the amount of blood. . . so that he would live," he told her softly.

Curiosity got the better of her, and she found herself wondering if she should prepare herself for the sight of a mutilated Heinrich. "What did you do to him?" She further questioned.

"Butchered him," Erik answered, he did not want to provoke her further, so he told her the truth.

Caressa corrected him, "I meant specifically, where did you wound him? What punishment had you carried out that was so fitting?"

Erik sighed and gave her a pleading look. He did not want to reveal that to her, though she would see for herself soon enough. His act was justified and he believed it had been to protect her, however, he felt extreme shame. The rage within him coupled dangerously with the despair of Caressa threatening herself. After a moment, he was able to calm his fury, and he attempted to place himself in Caressa's state of mind.

"You must feel such fear of me," he declared, and anxiously rubbed his hands together. "Such a fool I have been to expect that such an innocent creature would understand the need for such violence."

Caressa gestured to the dagger in her hand. "I think I'm beginning to understand violence. Now tell me what you did to him."

"I took him from his shoppe," Erik began in a hurried fashion. In his eyes, he imagined the blade dug deeper into her each moment, and he would tell her of the horrors if it would spare her pain. "Like the first night I came to you, I drugged him with a cloth drenched in chloroform. Though he fought so much harder than you did; a worthy opponent. I drove a carriage I had taken down to the stables, and carried him the rest of the way into my home." Erik laughed, reliving the thrill of bringing a victim deep beneath the opera house once more. "He was my first guest in many years, you see.

"I brought him into a cellar room which had been specifically outfitted for such. . . activities. I strapped him down onto a wooden table — " Erik paused here when he saw Caressa shudder. " — And waited for him to awaken. When he did, he begged for his life; he begged me to tell you that he loved you. That was only at first, his feelings changed as we progressed." Until this point, he had not divulged the worst, but the worst was about to come out, and a swelling of dread rolled in his chest. It was strange that an act that had been so pleasurable at the time would become so awful to relive.

"I removed his first and second fingers from his left hand," when he spoke, a quiver in Caressa's mouth betrayed her fright. "Then I severed a few of the toes from his left foot. After this, he lost consciousness for the first time, and I had to wait for him to come to his senses," he said this as if Heinrich was being impolite. "You should brace yourself for what comes next, little one."

A frozen Caressa took a deep breath through her nose and nodded for him to go on.

"I injected him with morphine, and waited for it to take effect before I sliced through his right ear. After that I took his right eye as it stared up at me in horror. He watched with the other as I crushed it in my hand. Then — well, then I lost control for a moment. I've never ruined such a handsome face, but his was something remarkable," Erik knew the relish in his voice was audible, but he could not hide it.

The dagger had drifted away from Caressa's throat. She could not have believed Erik would perform such loathsome acts if he had not been the one telling her.

"When I was satisfied with his appearance, I forced him to tell me what he had done to you, and what plans he had for you. He had no qualms about taking you forcefully, you should know. All he wanted was for you to realize your place," the words he spoke had indeed passed through Heinrich's lips, and relaying them to her could not hurt his situation.

Caressa closed her eyes tightly. She was trying to make every unpleasant sensation inside her vanish. It was childish and did nothing but cause her to imagine Heinrich above her in the darkness.

"Your fear aroused him, and when he struck you, your screams nearly finished him," he informed her. "He said himself that he would do it again if you would not come to him. That he would finish what he started and have you beneath him once more. With his fingers and manhood inside of you. He threatened that before me, as his blood covered my hands. . . So I castrated him."

An air of heaviness filled the room when he was finished.

That night replayed in Caressa's mind and she remembered her fear, which could not be paralleled by Erik's most recent deeds. The look in Heinrich's eyes was burning in her memory. She recalled the ferocity as his knuckles came across her eye. For someone who claimed such love for her, it was so easy for him to beat and force her. Erik had merely attempted to force her to see reason.

Erik watched as she tossed the dagger to the floor.

"Go away now, before I call the policemen. Climb down into the darkness," Caressa instructed calmly. She turned from him and grabbed her dress.

He did not move as she pulled it over her head.

"I saw the floorboards you removed beneath the bed. I know that's how you've been getting in." She moved to stand in front of the vanity, and used a moist handkerchief to remove the blood from her neck. Her hands twisted into her hair and secured a bun of messy ringlets at the back of her head.

Erik was reflected in the mirror, and she noticed that he hadn't moved.

"Please remove yourself, monsieur. Madame Giry shall return soon, and you do not want to anger her further," Caressa warned him. She turned to face him, and continued, "Be on your guard, she may tell the police it was you. Perhaps where to find you."

"I have collapsed many tunnels, and formed new entrances. She would never find me now," he explained. "You almost sound scared for me, Caressa." Indeed her voice had carried concern.

Caressa stepped forward and grasped his hand. "I absolutely do not condone what you have done, Erik, but I do understand why. I think I do, at least." Her fingers slipped out of his hand suddenly. "But you must understand that the most wicked thing I have ever done was crush a spider with my toe shoe—by accident. Intentionally harming someone is hateful and wrong, even when paired with—" Caressa tried to think of the right phrasing, "—Honourable intentions."

"The most wicked thing you've ever done was putting that blade to your flesh, Caressa," Erik corrected her. He very slowly and gently brought his hand to the small wound on her neck. It then shifted to cup her face. "The thought of losing you is monstrous, but if you harmed yourself, my very heart would stop beating."

Caressa stared into his eyes, and a look of realization crossed her face. A slight smile betrayed her thoughts, as she understood what Christine had meant about "holding the ace."

The slight smile was misunderstood by Erik. Their proximity and his hand upon her face coupled with a smile from her lips caused him to do something he would soon regret.

He moved in to claim the kiss that had been stolen from him by Madame Giry's interference.

Caressa turned her face away in disgust. _He thinks I would kiss him after what he has done_, she thought to herself.

His lips fell against her cheek, he left them there and sighed in embarrassment.

"Go now, and leave me," Caressa breathed and pulled away from him. She turned her back to him.

Erik went to the bed in defeat, and bent down to crawl beneath it. He had never felt more ashamed. Once more he looked back to her, but she would not look at him. After he had lowered himself beneath the floorboards, he replaced the planks he had removed, and crept toward the wall, where he could stand.

Caressa could hear him as he made his way along the wall. The shuffling sound reminded her of rats, and she wondered when he had been inside the walls over the last few days. A shiver ran down her spine at the thought, wondering what he might have seen. Though she knew that if he had seen her unclothed, he would not have come to her again.

When she could no longer hear him, she pulled open the wardrobe and removed the case Christophe had arrived with. She began stuffing it full of Christophe's clothes and the few belongings he had brought along with him. Finally, she placed the violin she had given him into the case, and clasped it shut.

After the abominable thing that Erik had done, she would not allow Christophe to spend another night in the opera house. She would send him away that very evening. Just as she was about to dash from the room, she grasped the violin she had once given to Heinrich from the floor and was out like a flash.

It suddenly worried her that Madame Giry had taken so long to retrieve Christophe. She sprinted to the auditorium with Christophe's belongings clutched close to her. When the Madame saw her, the look that crossed her face was grim.

"Were you able to find him?" Caressa asked, slightly out of breath.

Madame Giry shook her head. "I asked after Matteo, but he has not seen him since this morning. Nor has Reinette been with him."

"Where could he be?" She gasped.

Meg entered from stage left, and Caressa flew to her side.

"Have you seen my little brother?" She wondered, desperately.

"I saw him earlier today, but not since the stagehands left to lunch," Meg replied. She had heard from her mother that Heinrich was alive, and the police were requesting Caressa's confirmation. It further illustrated the horror Erik had wrought that he had been unrecognizable.

Caressa cursed under her breath. The auditorium was empty for the most part, and so she began to call out to him. "Christophe, are you there!" She shouted.

Aside from the looks of confusion on the faces of the few ballerinas and stagehands remaining, no response came.

"Christophe Leroy, if you are in this theatre, come out this instant!" Caressa called. There was no reply. "Madame, I must find him," she told her teacher before rushing out of the theatre and through the many corridors of the opera house.

* * *

A shadow had been watching her from the very highest row of the catwalks above the stage. His feet dangled dangerously over the side of the plank. He was sorry to see her so worried, but Christophe did not know what to do after overhearing the policemen explain what had happened with Heinrich to Madame Giry. He had been sitting in a set piece, eating an apple Reinette had brought for him. The Madame had come looking for him, and he had climbed as high as he could above the stage. Later, when he saw his case in Caressa's hand, he knew she meant to send him back to his mother.

A shudder from the plank beneath him startled the boy, he grasped the rope to his right, and looked to his left in surprise.

Caressa's tutor, Master Erik, stood over him. He knew he should have been frightened, Madame Giry had whispered the man's name once the police had left her. It only made sense that he had been the one to attack Heinrich. Christophe understood that Erik's infatuation with Caressa was as dangerous as Heinrich's. They had both harmed her, and now Master Erik had butchered his older brother.

"Thank you, monsieur," Christophe finally said.

Erik was confused by the admission. "For what, boy?"

"For doing what I could not." Christophe stared down at the stage and saw Meg Giry run off in the opposite direction that Caressa had. "I heard the police when they told Madame Giry what you had done. I should have had to the courage to do it that night—to have cut his throat instead of his side."

Erik watched the boy's hands twist painfully into the rope he was holding.

The boy spoke once more, "He deserved all that you did to him, I am sure."

"Your sister does not see it that way." Erik scoffed. Why couldn't Caressa understand the way that the boy did? He had seen Caressa packing the boy's things through the small mirror in the vanity (he had installed several two-way mirrors throughout the opera house), and understood that she planned to send him somewhere safer. If the boy would not go to Caressa, Erik would force him. He would not mind the boy's absence, and if it would make Caressa feel more at ease, he would help make it so.

"She is too kindhearted for her own good. She is so fragile, and she will always need protection." Christophe scratched his nose. "I wish she were stronger," he paused and looked at Erik, "If she were, she wouldn't be such easy prey for people like you."

The man towered above him and glared. "I could send you to your death, boy," Erik warned him and shook the catwalk violently. The boy clung to the rope.

"I may thank you for what you have done, but I have not forgotten what you did to my sister. You have undone nothing." Christophe jerked the rope he was holding as hard as he could.

Erik stumbled, and fell to one knee to steady himself.

"I could just as easily send you to yours, monsieur," Christophe growled.

From somewhere to their left, they heard Caressa calling out to Christophe once more.

"Why won't you go to her?" Erik asked.

Christophe shook his head, and answered, "She will send me away."

"She fears what I will do to you; that I would take you from her," Erik told him.

"Would you?" The boy challenged.

A chuckle escaped Erik. "Despite my previous threats, I would not readily bring harm to a child."

The boy looked unusually nervous before he spoke, "I fear that she will want to send me to my mother."

It pained Erik to know that despite what Caressa felt for her stepmother, that she thought Christophe would be safer with the woman.

"Caressa has mentioned the night, when you were young children—" Erik began.

"Don't," the boy whispered, and Erik stopped.

Erik paused, and rephrased himself, "I have come to understand that your mother is a vile woman."

The boy abruptly turned to him with a heavy expression on his face. "_Was_," he corrected.

"What?" Erik was confused, from the way Caressa had always spoken of her stepmother, he sure she was always unpleasant.

"My mother was vile, but it's strange and comforting how her death has put a stopper in her wickedness," Christophe revealed.

Erik swallowed. "Your mother is dead?"

"She died soon after we found out that Caressa's father had passed away. When I came here, I wrote a note as my mother and used her signature. I didn't want Caressa to shed a single tear for her, because I knew that she would. Her heart is too kind. I couldn't bear to see Caressa sorry at my mother's death." Christophe seethed and twisted his hands into the rope again. "A death well-deserved," the boy whispered.

The boy shifted into a stiff posture. Erik saw the fire in his eyes and began to realize what had occurred.

"When she found out that papa, for Andre Bucher was my father for as long as I can remember, had died, I expected her to be pleased. She had despised him for having divorced her, but she spiraled into an uncontrollable sadness. I waited on her, hand and foot, as she had taken to her bed. Then one morning, I awoke, and she was in the kitchen making breakfast." Christophe snorted. "I was so stupid, every time she was up and happy like that, I thought things would be better. She knew best how to tear my heart out. I asked her what had changed, and she told me Caressa was coming home.

"At first, for less than a second, I was more happy than I have ever been in my whole life. Then I remembered all of the horrible things she had done, and all of the terrible words my mother promised against her." The boy shuddered. "I begged her to leave Caressa alone in Paris, but she swore she had better claim to her than Madame Giry." Christophe's breaths became quicker and his eyes flashed back and forth in his head.

"I wouldn't let her hurt my sister again. My dear, sweet sister who has never harmed anyone. Who suffered like no being should suffer, and still holds me and tells me it's all right—like I was the one she had tortured." Christophe bared his teeth and sobbed.

Erik wanted to force the boy to tell him what his mother had done, but he sensed that in his agitated state, he would not respond with anything that he was not prepared to tell him.

"When I persisted in trying to dissuade her, my mother started to beat me with a broomstick—" The boy's body began to shake "—I was so angry, and suddenly she told me she would finish what she had done to my witch of a stepsister." Both Christophe's body and voiced calmed. "I had never struck my mother before, but when I hit her in the stomach, I felt stronger than any man. That was before she grabbed me by the back of the neck and tried to shove my face against the stove top. I was so frightened, but in that moment I knew what I had to do. I grasped at the apron rack in front of me, and with all of my strength wrenched myself from my mother's hands. Before she could stop me, I had the apron strings coiled around her neck, and I pulled at them for hours.

"I felt the blisters forming on my hands, but I had to know she would never raise a hand against me or those I love. Her eyes had turned to blood, and her mouth hung slack. Great bruises formed on her flesh. I only stopped pulling when a small fire erupted on the stove top. The bristles of the broomstick had caught fire, and I stamped them out. I buried her corpse in the forest behind our home and left for Paris that night," the boy concluded his tale and sighed.

"Now you are the only person who knows what I have done, Master Erik," Christophe confessed.

Despite being no stranger to murder, Erik felt particular pity for the boy in this situation. He too had strangled a person to death at a young age, and like Christophe, it had been out of necessity and defense.

He clapped a hand over the boy's shoulder, but could think of no response. Erik could see the tears falling into Christophe's lap as he hung his head.

"You did what you had to do, boy. You are not an animal to be whipped and beaten, you are a human, who has held a life in his hands. I understand the sensation. I have walked the line of that place between life and death, where you can so easily thrust a person to either side. It is a powerful feeling, but it is also one that is preceded by great fear. _'I am right, to do this thing?'_ I have asked myself. Often I have answered no, and released my prey. Often have I answered no, and been seduced by the powerful pull of the look in a man's eyes as they fall silent of emotion. Only in their deaths, do I become more beautiful than them." He touched his hand to his mask. "Only a corpse is beneath my ugliness."

Christophe placed his hand over Erik's, and gripped it firmly. He whispered darkly at him, "I did not tell you this as a confession, Master Erik. I told you as a warning. If you harm my sister again, I will kill you. I took the life of my own mother—you are nothing to me."

Erik was amazed by the boy, he saw a shadow of himself in the child. He felt both great admiration and hatred for him. He considered pushing him from the catwalk. _'Am I right, to do this thing?'_ he asked himself.

"No," Erik said aloud. "I am nothing to you, and if I do harm her, you should have every right to challenge me, child. But know this—" He stood to his full height, and watched his shadow cover the boy. "—I am the master of death, the very child of the devil, and I fear no man. Your mewls of hatred hold no purchase with me. You will remain safe, because Caressa wishes it, and I will do what I can to please her. That does not give you leave to threaten me with your tale of how you choked the life from a mad woman."

Slowly, Erik revealed a punjab lasso from his cloak. "What you spent hours doing, I can finish in less than a moment. I am the Phantom of this opera house, and if you overstep my bounds, I will break your neck like kindling."

The boy grinned at him, perhaps intimidated, but unafraid. "We understand each other then?"

Erik replaced the lasso. "You must go to your sister now," he ordered him.

Christophe heaved a sigh, "I will go, but you must do what you can to keep her safe when I am gone—even from yourself." He gave Erik a pleading look.

"I will do what I can, boy," he consented. "Go on."

The boy sprinted off across the catwalks, swift and soundless.

Erik watched as Christophe made himself known to Madame Giry, who called out to Meg, who in turn called out to Caressa. He witnessed Caressa bolting down the middle aisle towards her little brother. She flew up the side steps, and slid onto her knees to grab hold of him. The case and the violin slid backward past him as she latched onto him.

"Where were you, I was so worried!" She cried, and grasped his face in both hands. "Oh, Christophe, you had me so scared that he had taken you." She kissed his cheek and smoothed her hands over his hair frantically.

"The Phantom," Christophe breathed quietly. That he knew the moniker alarmed Caressa, and she grasped him tighter still.

From above, Erik viewed the tenderness and the love with which Caressa regarded her murderous brother. How he wished she would show him a fraction of that affection. Would she despise her brother if she knew what he had done, or would she praise him?

"I am sending you away, Christophe. It is not safe for you here," Caressa pulled back and informed him.

Christophe shook his head. "Do not send me back to my mother." Sickness churned in his stomach at thought of having to explain why he could not go back.

"No, of course not," Caressa assured him. "I will send you to my cousin and her husband, they will take great care of you."

"Who is your cousin?" Christophe wondered.

Caressa moved to take up the case and violin again. "I will tell you all about it in the carriage, now come."

Erik watched Caressa usher her brother out of the auditorium and into the foyer. Madame Giry and Meg followed closely behind.

A pair of policemen were waiting in exasperation and agitation as Caressa finally arrived to go with them. They had better things to do than escort some actress to a hospital. Though they were pleased that many of the chorus girls had come out to flirt with them.

Caressa turned to Madame Giry, and hugged her before she lost her nerve, "Thank you, Madame." She grasped Meg's hand when she had released Madame Giry. "Thank you, Meg. I will return with the news."

"Be strong, Caressa," Madame Giry urged her.

The girl nodded, and approached the policemen.

"If you please, mademoiselle," the taller of the two began, "We need to be getting along." His annoyance was plain to Caressa.

"Of course," she assented. Caressa linked her arm into Christophe's and they followed the policemen to a carriage outside.

Just as they were about to climb in, Reinette called out Caressa's name from the top of the Opera Populaire's steps. The ginger girl hopped down the stairs to meet her.

The taller policeman groaned.

"Before you go, Monsieur Matri requested that I give you this note." Reinette was breathless, and extended a piece of folded stationary to Caressa.

"Thank you, Reinette. That was awfully silly of him; I'll be back in time, he could have told me himself," Caressa laughed at the absurdity.

A very serious look developed over Reinette's fair features. "You must read it, Caressa," she begged her. Then her eyes shifted to Christophe. "You're going away then," she asked with more emotion in her voice than was truly proper.

"I must," Christophe replied in an attempt to sound distant and collected. It was not successful.

A weak sob erupted from Reinette before she moved in to kiss Christophe briefly on the cheek. She was too embarrassed to remain, and raced back up the steps.

Christophe's heart swelled, and he suddenly wished to stay all the more. "Must I go?" He asked Caressa desperately while they climbed into the carriage.

Caressa was saddened by the display, but knew what was truly best for the only family she had. It was the most difficult decision she had made in her young life, but she was confident. "You will be safe and loved in the home where I am sending you, now do not argue with me again," she ordered. This command was uttered with both finality and kindness. "You will wait in the carriage when we arrive at the hospital. I will see Heinrich alone."

It appeared that Christophe would protest, but after a stern sideways glance from Caressa, he remained quiet.

As they rode, Caressa soundlessly removed John's note from her pocket, and hid it within her hands as she carefully unfolded it.

It read:

"_Hôtel de Crillon  
__10 Place De La Concorde_

_Ask for Monsieur Hughes' suite_

_J._"


	21. Oh Comely

Reviews are most welcome.

* * *

**Chapter 21: Oh Comely**

Caressa's thoughts tangled in her mind, and she attempted to sort them accordingly. First she would see to the terrible business of Heinrich. Then she would put Christophe into a carriage set for the Chateau de Chagny. The last affair she would consider was the note from John.

She slipped the paper back into her pocket, and relegated it away, to a time and a place where she could think soundly.

"Where are you sending me?" Christophe asked her. He wished she would let him remain in the city to protect her, but he clearly sensed that she would not be swayed.

Caressa sighed. "I am sending you to my cousin Christine and her husband. She will send you to the Paris Academie, where you shall receive the very best education you could hope for," she informed her brother.

"Are they good people?" He wondered.

She nodded. "The very best of people, I assure you. They have a little daughter, who could not be a happier child. You could be her little protector, as you have been mine." Caressa smoothed her hand over Christophe's coat in a comforting gesture. "You are everything to me now, Christophe, and it is time that I protect you."

She hoped that this would be enough to stem his worry and resistance.

"What if you can't protect yourself? He will come after you again," the boy warned her.

The policeman in the carriage glanced over at Caressa with interest for the first time.

"Has someone been troubling you, mademoiselle?" The policeman asked her. His voice was alert and concerned.

"My brother only means Heinrich Leroy, monsieur," she replied, and glared at Christophe.

Christophe complied and said nothing.

A grim look came over the policeman's face. "I would not worry about him any time soon, if it is indeed he who awaits in the hospital, mademoiselle. I was one of the few to see him before they bandaged him up — I've never seen something so terrible in all my years."

Caressa cringed at this; perhaps even she would not recognize him. How would she face Erik's monstrosity now? How would she face anything that might be set before her?

In less time than she had prepared for, the carriage halted. Christophe locked eyes with her. A dread crept through her, and she did not move to exit when the policeman stepped out and provided his hand for her to take.

"I am afraid, monsieur," she whimpered. Suddenly, she felt ten years old again. She imagined her brother in a bed in the hospital, and remembered a time when their situations were reversed.

"Then you must be brave," the policeman answered, with his hand still extended.

She took it firmly, and turned back to Christophe. "Wait here, I shall be back shortly."

Christophe nodded.

After taking a deep breath, Caressa followed the policeman out of the carriage and into the hospital. A mighty chill settled inside of her as they walked through the white halls. She had not been to a hospital in six years, and had hoped never to return to one. To her, hospitals were houses of pain.

As they approached the door at the end of a hallway, Caressa knew Heinrich would be inside. There were no more turns, no more stairs, only one last door between her and her mutilated brother. She stopped in the middle of the hallway, and jerked the policeman back as she continued to hold his arm.

"He is unconscious, mademoiselle," he attempted to calm her. "If he begins to wake, someone will put him back to sleep. He is too weak to move very much, and is restrained in any case." The policeman did not seem to understand that she was more afraid of what Erik had done, than of Heinrich himself.

Caressa nodded and drew heavy breaths, trying to prepare herself for what she would see. Her feet gradually moved forward, and the policeman was slightly supporting her. He suspected she would faint when she saw the man.

The policeman turned the knob and ushered her into the darkened room. All she could make out was a still form on the bed. An intact foot was cuffed to the bed frame. The policeman left her side, and turned up the lamp at the side of the bed.

Where she had imagined bloody flesh were clean white bandages. The man before her was hardly horrifying, and rather more pitiable than anything. Much of his face was covered in linen strips, while the portions that were visible had become swollen. She stepped closer and saw small cuts across the exposed flesh—there were dozens. Most of them were stitched and had begun to heal.

The man's dark curls were familiar to her. She reached out slowly and turned a lock around in her fingers.

"Do you recognize him?" The policeman asked.

Caressa bit her lip. "I'm not sure, he's so altered. His face is so very swollen," she admitted. She knew it was him—Erik had assured her that it was—he had done this. However, until she was certain, a small part of her hoped it was a stranger. Perhaps Erik had lied to frighten her; perhaps this was all a nightmare.

Her companion coughed. "The doctor who has been observing him granted me permission to remove his bandages for a moment or two, so that you might identify him. Would you permit me?" He wondered. The policeman did not appear at all prepared to do such a thing, but Caressa found herself nodding in consent.

It was a morbid curiosity and unfounded wonder, but she had to see what lie beneath the bandages. The policeman shuddered for a moment, but collected himself, and reached gently under the cloth to lift it back.

The process was more difficult than he had expected, and Caressa watched as dried blood clung to the linen, and ripped away as the policeman pulled. It was excruciating to watch, and Caressa felt herself becoming sick. Just as he finished removing the bandage, the man's remaining eye cracked open and he cried out in agony.

Caressa and the policeman bolted backward in shock.

"SHIT!" The policeman had shouted. He looked up at the actress across the bed from him and apologized for his outburst.

She had not heard him. She was too transfixed on the man's face as he called out for help. His right eyelid was collapsed, covering an empty socket. Deep slashes carved into his right cheek. The right ear was indeed missing, leaving behind a gaping bloody hole. Fresh blood wept from some of the wounds, and Caressa found herself covering her mouth in horror. Her breaths were coming harsh and fast, and she began to rock as sobs racked through her.

"I'll fetch a doctor!" The policeman shouted and ran out into the hall.

Caressa peered after him. "Don't leave me. . ." she rasped, and reached a pathetic hand toward the doorway.

The man continued to cry out. Caressa cautiously stepped closer again, and tugged the bandages back down over his wounds. He quieted, and she found his eye beaming up at her. It was Heinrich's eye, she had no doubt. This is real, she told herself. The sobs returned and she watched as Heinrich's bandaged hand brushed itself against her skirts.

"Caressa. . .?" He asked softly.

She nodded gravely, and clutched her mouth once more.

"You came for me," he breathed, "You came back to me."

The policeman returned with a doctor.

"My apologies, mademoiselle, he should have been unconscious a little longer. We did not wish for him to disturb you further," the doctor explained as he approached Heinrich with a syringe in hand.

Heinrich turned to the doctor. "All is well, she came for me," he assured him.

The doctor agreed, and Caressa watched as he injected Heinrich with some medication. Within a few moments, his eye closed, and he was asleep once more.

"This man is Heinrich Leroy," she confirmed quietly, and bolted from the room.

When the policeman exited the room, he saw that Caressa had only managed to make it halfway down the hallway before she had collapsed. He rushed to her, and realized that she had fallen into a fit of sobs and quieted shrieks. The skirt of her gown billowed beneath her, the blue fabric rippling wildly as she tore at her hair.

He worried that the doctor would see her and attempt to declare her mad, but he did not wish to interrupt her grief.

"Mademoiselle. . ." He whispered gently.

Caressa gasped.

After a few strides, she had not been able to continue on. Her outburst had exploded from the volatile mixture of anguish, disgust, fear, pity and hatred roaring inside of her. Caressa wondered what monstrous sickness afflicted Erik that would cause him to perform such cruelty on another living creature. If Erik could mutilate Heinrich in such a manner, would he resort to similar measures if she refused him?

Oh God, Heinrich. No matter his crimes, he did not deserve his fate. A grating cry escaped her as she recalled that terrible face.

"Mademoiselle... " She heard suddenly from beside her.

In her agitated state, Caressa was sharply surprised and frightened. Red hot anger flashed before her eyes and her fist flew toward the voice.

The policeman was able to jerk out of the way. He watched as the young woman's knuckles collided with the wall. Her cries stopped the moment she witnessed her hand disappear into the hole she had made in the plaster.

"Are you all right, mademoiselle?" The policeman asked in a blend of concern and disbelief.

She twisted her hand back and forth to work it free from the wall. When it was finally out she stared at the blood dripping from her knuckles in shock. Slowly, her fingers opened and closed. Though there was immense pain, it was a relief from the sensations that had been plaguing her moments before. The more she flexed her fingers, the more pain she felt and the more warm blood trickled down her arm and onto her gown. A sense of relief and peace settled over her.

The broken and ragged skin pulled across her knuckles was stinging severely, and dried plaster chunks were driven into the wounds. When she flexed them again, many of the chunks dislodged and fell to the floor.

While she continued to examine the damage, she stood calmly. The policeman stepped back from her hastily, slightly apprehensive of the girl who was so fascinated by her own pain.

She looked up at him, and her eyes were kind. "I am sorry, monsieur. I was overwhelmed, but I am myself again. How could someone do something so hateful?" She ended rhetorically.

"I find myself fortunate that I do not know the answer to that, mademoiselle," he replied and offered his hand to her.

Caressa took it with her good hand and hid her wounded hand in the folds of her skirt.

"Shall we have a doctor bandage that for you?" He wondered.

"The blood will stop in a moment, and I desperately want to be free of this place," Caressa revealed as she pulled him toward the exit.

When they were outside of the hospital, she stopped and gave the policeman an intense look. "I am sending my little brother away from Paris, to my cousin. He need not be exposed to these harsh realities. I want more than anything for him to remain untainted by this evil."

The policeman was uncertain of where this conversation was headed, but he nodded politely.

"Might you ride with him, Monsieur-?"

"Khan," he offered.

"Monsieur Khan, I am sure that you have many more important duties. However, this matter is very dear to me. I could pay you, to see him there safely," she begged him and rummaged in her pockets for money. The more she moved it, the pain in her hand intensified.

Monsieur Khan put up his hand. "There is no need for you to pay me. I shall escort the boy if that is what you wish."

"Truly, monsieur?" Caressa's face lit up.

"It would be my pleasure, but I would request a pair of tickets to the opera for my wife and son; only if that request is within your power," he added.

Caressa wasn't entirely sure if it was something she could do, but she nodded. "Of course, it is done, monsieur. Thank you."

The pair made their way down a set of stone steps that led to the carriage containing Christophe. Caressa walked around to Christophe's door and peered through the window at her brother. She was careful to hide her hand from his view.

"Monsieur Khan shall escort you the rest of the way, Christophe," Caressa informed him.

An expression of confusion appeared on her brother's face. "You're not coming with?"

"I cannot, if I go to visit Christine again, it will no longer be a safe place to hide you," she admitted, but did not explain why that was so. "I love you, Christophe. This is all because I love you. Please believe me?"

He hung his head. "I believe you."

She placed her good hand on the windowsill and Christophe put both of his hands over it. "I would die before I would let someone hurt you," Caressa whispered furiously.

Christophe smiled. "Good bye, Caressa."

Caressa stood up on her toes and kissed her brother's forehead. "Good bye, my sweet brother." She glanced at Khan and nodded her head.

He called to the cabby to drive on, and when the carriage jerked forward, Caressa ran after it while she could. Christophe waved back at her as the carriage drove off into the distance. When she could no longer see it, she wandered along the sidewalk and rested against the façade of a milliner's shop.

She drew in a few deep breaths and then removed John's note from her pocket; it was smeared with blood. 10 Place De La Concorde, she reread the address, then looked up and down the street. It was only a few blocks away, so she started on her way to the hotel. After the first block, she felt a drop of rain splatter on her cheek. A few moments later, several more drops fell and the wind began to pelt toward her.

After three more blocks, the downpour had turned torrential. Caressa was soaked and freezing, her hair clung to her face and her gown grew heavy. She held her hand over her eyes to shield them from the rain. A final block separated her from the hotel, and so she sprinted through the icy deluge and arrived at the doors to the Hotel de Crillon.

She rushed into the lobby, and heard the guests gasp at her appearance. Her hair had fallen free of its arrangement on her head, and lay tangled across her back and shoulders. The very best gown she owned was drenched in rainwater and had a streak of blood running down its front right panel. Her body shivered as she made her way to the front desk.

The man behind the counter did his best not to acknowledge her as she approached.

Caressa pushed her hair from her face and stood up as straight as she could. "My name is Caressa Bucher, I am looking for Monsieur Hughes' suite," she revealed timidly.

A smile suddenly spread across the attendant's face. "You're Carmen at the Populaire!" He had declared, loud enough that the guests might have heard him.

Caressa looked behind her in fear, but no one seemed to respond.

When the attendant saw her reaction, he made a motion as if he were locking his lips.

"I would appreciate your discretion, monsieur," she uttered under her breath.

"Of course, mademoiselle, I shall escort you to Monsieur Ma—I mean to say Monsieur Hughes' suite myself." He stepped out from behind the counter and led Caressa up a few flights of stairs. She could hear the sopping wet hem of her dress slap the stairs as they ascended; at each slap she cringed. As they reached the top stair, a great set of doors faced them.

The attendant rapped on the doors with his knuckles and then marched briskly back down the stairs. Caressa tried to fold her skirt in a way that might conceal the blood, but as she did so the door opened.

"Christ, Caressa! What's happened to you?" John cried the moment he saw her.

"I must look a fright," she breathed and attempted to shield her face from him.

A warm hand covered her arm. "You must come inside."

She nodded and entered. It was extremely luxurious, larger than John and Henri's suite at the opera. The fixtures were aristocratic and an air of cold extravagance filled the room. It was however warmed by a crackling fire lit in a grand fireplace at the center of the main room.

When the door was shut, John took her face in his hands. "Are you hurt?" He asked her very seriously.

"No—I mean, yes, I am. It's nothing; just my hand." She revealed her hand to him, and heard John heave a sigh of sadness and shock.

"Go and sit by the fire, I will bandage it for you." He hurried off through a doorway to the right and Caressa staggered toward the fireplace.

When she reached a fine white armchair and matching footstool sitting before the fire, she awkwardly knelt between them. She made certain that the now sanguine fabric of her gown did not touch the pristine carpet. It was an appalling thought that she would destroy such beauty in her wet and bloodied state. She stared half-heartedly at the flames, and their warmth washed over her. The heat caused a tremor in her body as it began to eradicate the terrible cold within her.

Her good hand reached into her ruined ringlets and removed the remaining pins. As she did so, John returned.

John noticed that she had chosen to sit on the floor instead of the chair, but made no comment. He chose to occupy the seat himself, and set down a basin of water on the small wooden table beside the chair. A hand towel he had brought out rested on his lap as he rolled up his sleeves.

Caressa stared up at him cautiously; she wondered at his silence. He removed his cufflinks and rolled his sleeves up to his elbows. She held a gasp inside as she witnessed the tiny circular scars mottling his skin from inner wrist to elbow.

Her eyes had grown wide and betrayed her notice. John swallowed hard and fought through a pang of regret at having foolishly overlooked the fact that his forearms were covered in morphine injection scars.

The silence grew heavier, and each party knew that something should be said. However, neither would acknowledge this uncomfortable situation.

After Caressa had looked away, John found his voice. "Let me see your hand, Caressa," he whispered. There was a definite element of fear in his voice as he spoke.

She slowly removed her hand from her skirts and held it out to him. The warmth of his fingers alerted her to how cold her own must have been. He gently slid his hand beneath hers and cradled it above his knee. Then he dipped the hand towel in the basin on the table and brought it over the wound.

"There was plaster in the wounds earlier, I believe most of it fell free, but I'm uncertain," Caressa told him sheepishly. She feared the dabbing at her knuckles with a cloth would only drive any remaining plaster deeper in.

When John leaned down close to attentively examine the wound, he saw that nothing remained but blood and skin. "I am confident that your wound is free of foreign materials," he assured her. He took up the towel once more and rung it over her knuckles. Blood that had escaped ran from the wound and revealed the tattered skin beneath.

Caressa gasped and latched onto John's leg. She did not release her hold until the stinging in her knuckles ebbed. He rung the towel a second time and though she was more prepared, she continued to cling to him. When she glanced up at her hand she realized the runoff of blood and water was dripping onto John's trousers.

"John, your trousers! You'll ruin them!" She exclaimed while pulling her hand from his grasp.

In response he grinned and held his hand out to her. "I don't give a damn about my trousers. Now surrender your hand—please."

Reluctantly, she placed her hand back in his and he began cleaning the wounds in earnest. As John worked, Caressa buried her cheek against his outer thigh. She whinged each time the towel wiped against the torn flesh. John held her hand delicately and very carefully stroked her skin free of blood. While the wounds had stopped bleeding, it was clear they might do so again soon.

Once the cleaning had ended, John dropped the towel in the basin of water. Caressa felt him lightly tie a length of fabric around her hand to act as a bandage. She pulled her cheek away from his thigh and saw that he had used the cravat from around his neck.

He knew that she would protest, so he facetiously remarked, "I would prefer that my cravat aid in healing your hand than have it strangle me a moment longer."

Caressa laughed, and abandoned anymore protests.

"Do you think I will have scars?" She asked nervously.

"You may. When these are healed, wash them with milk everyday to soften any blemishes," he advised and released her hand.

She let it rest on his knee. "Did you wash your scars with milk?" Caressa regretted this question the moment it left her lips. The time had come and gone to make queries, yet she had to know.

John sunk into the chair and rested his arms upward, so that his curious companion might see the minute, sunken scars. "These stains of sin?" He hissed, the tone of his voice remained light, but Caressa immediately sensed an inherent darkness. "I must admit I made attempts to wash them away, but these scars are pitted deeply, Caressa. They recall to my mind memories of the coldest nights and the blackest horrors I can imagine." His eyes drifted to the fire and a smile pulled at the corner of his lips before he continued, "I find great relief in this moment, Caressa. On this night I am warmed by a grand fire, and accompanied by the brightest star in France."

Caressa was powerless to stop the smile that spread across her face. An uncontrollable and unfamiliar queasiness erupted lower in abdomen. The moment she found her hand was grasping his thigh, she jerked it away.

"We shall find you something dry to wear, and then you will explain the events that lead to your hand being in such a state." John stood up and walked to the bed. "I trust it has something to do with Monsieur Leroy being found."

Caressa nodded.

John lifted his coat from the bed. "This is all I have to offer you. I suppose that I had expected you to arrive with Christophe and perhaps an umbrella," he paused and shrugged. "I had intended that you and your brother might find a respite here for at least one evening. Perhaps time away from whatever or whoever is troubling you might do you well— not that I should pretend to know your troubles. It may be unseemly for you to stay the night without Christophe, but I wouldn't dare let you out onto the streets of Paris at night while it's raining."

Caressa was suddenly before him. He had not noticed her move from in front of the fire. She put her hands over his on the coat. The coy smile she had been practicing instinctively bloomed across her lips.

"I appreciate your gesture, monsieur. Unfortunately, I sent Christophe away, so it really will only be the two of us. I will explain myself once I have changed." She gathered the coat from his hands and walked into another bedroom to the right.

Every thought in Caressa's mind told her to leave. She would ruin everything if she had to explain the truth of the situation, and she would not lie to him. The only sure way to avoid more trouble was to slip out of the suite and run back to the opera house, where the danger was at least familiar. John had intended a respite, but had exposed her to a new set of dilemmas—most of which involved exposing her true feelings and intentions.

However, in her heart she knew that she would stay. For all of the moments she had longed to be with him, it appeared that her prayers had been answered. Though it was clear the night's events would not go as she had hoped.

She unbuttoned the back of her gown and let it slosh to the floor. Then she tossed off her soaked underthings, save for her pantalettes, which remained somewhat dry. She held John's coat to her cheek and inhaled the light scent of wood, spices and a light musk. Only after she had taken a few deep breathes of the coat did she slip it on. Her fingers fumbled slightly as she secured the buttons. It was immediately apparent that the coat hardly covered her chest. She turned the lapels out and bundled the fabric at her throat, which appeared to be a sound solution.

As she adjusted the coat, she realized it was lined with an extremely fine silk. A jolt of pleasure coursed through her as the fabric brushed across her chest.

Caressa felt guilty and stared down at her white pantalettes that were exposed from the middle of her thigh to her ankles. Her feet were bare. She considered how unattractive her calluses were and any happiness died within her.

After taking a few moments to collect herself, Caressa shuffled back into the main room. John was bent over the fire, stoking it before adding another log. When he turned to Caressa, he failed to stifle a chuckle as he took in her change of clothes.

She caught sight of herself in a mirror across the room and burst into a fit of giggles.

"You look ridiculous, but at least you're no longer soaked to the skin," John reminded her. "Please, sit in the chair by the fire."

Caressa followed his direction and settled into the chair. The cushions enveloped her and she was at peace. John took up the footstool and dragged it toward her.

"Now, tell me about your hand," he said. Caressa noticed that his sleeves had been rolled back down.

For a few moments, she let the day's events form in her mind. She was not sure where to begin. So she started with, "A long time ago, in the lowliest part of the city, reserved for prostitutes and thieves, a woman bore a child. He was a prodigy and a genius, but he was also terribly deformed. Life was cruel to him, beyond all measure, and he lived in fear of society. He ran from home and was displayed as a side show freak. Madame Giry rescued him, and found a place for him in the cellars of the opera house. In the cellars he grew into manhood, and developed his devotion to music.

"In his time, he accepted that his life was to be lived entirely without love. Then he heard Christine's voice and knew that she was his great blessing—"

John placed his hand on her knee to stop her. He looked at her very intensely and spoke very clearly, "Are you attempting to tell me that Erik is the Phantom of the Opera?"

"You mustn't think me mad or simple, but I swear to you that he is. That's why he wears the mask. You don't have to believe me, all I ask is that you don't think me mad," she begged him and took hold of his hand.

The man before her wore a blank expression. "Continue," he sighed.

"Erik was my friend, truly a dear friend. He was very strict with me, and there were times when he would look at me in such a way that I felt... naked, I suppose. Though it was not so very bad until Heinrich came after me. I did not tell him what had really transpired, because I thought Erik would kill him. After all, Heinrich is—was my brother." An image of Heinrich's ruined visage flashed before her eyes. "If I had told him myself, perhaps I could have stayed his hand, perhaps he would have been more kind. I know now that I was wrong about Erik killing him, though perhaps death would have been a mercy. I had never experienced his fury like the morning I said I would walk with you. I was sure he was going to kill me. However, it seems he finds other ways to punish those who disobey him." She held a hand to her ribs.

"Somehow he discovered what had happened with Heinrich; it was only a matter of time. I could hardly recognize him when Erik was finished," she cried and curled up into the chair. "He cut off his ear and plucked out his eye. There were wounds everywhere. I was so angry and scared that I punched the wall, and that is how my hand came to be like this. I sent Christophe away the moment after I had seen Heinrich. I would like to believe he is safe from Erik, but I hardly know. Is anyone safe from Erik?" She asked distantly.

John watched her rock back and forth in the chair. He reached out to her, but she looked at him with sad, swollen eyes.

"I almost kissed him today," she began and John's hand fell away. "He saved my mother's piano and very nearly declared something like love for me, and I was going to let him kiss me. Then Madame Giry arrived and told me what he had done. I fought him so hard, but he was so strong. I threatened to cut my own throat if he came near me again. That was the only way I could force him to go."

"Are you telling me the absolute truth?" He demanded throatily.

Caressa sunk before him on the floor, seized his hands and implored him, "I swear to you on my mother's grave, monsieur. I would never lie to you. There has never been another living soul who has treated me better than you have done. I crave no one's favor as I covet yours, and I tell you all of these terrible things now because you were honest with me."

She hardly knew how he would respond, but his features remained blank.

"If all you say is true, then I would either be very foolish or have an awesome death wish if I did not turn you out this moment and never think of you again," he finally admitted.

An ache tore through Caressa's heart, it rivaled the moment she had discovered her father's death. She was left gasping for a reply, anything that would change his mind, but she knew he was right. All that was left of her was a sobbing she couldn't control.

"You forget my reckless nature, Carolina," he murmured.

Caressa quivered as she peered up at him. He had spoken her true name in his unique and passionate manner. His fingers spread over her cheek.

"You are a great dark beauty, whose equal I have never known. I am drawn to you so strongly that it brings me to the point of alarm, and I do not wish to pry myself away. The gleam of your innocent eye, and the fluttering of your hair was enough to ruin me the moment I saw you run into Henri that first day in the hall," he confessed to her.

Her hair had dried for the most part and fell in careless, natural waves. John stroked a lock beside her cheek.

"Though it is your skin that has me completely undone; I am utterly defenseless against this creamy envelope of yours," John's voice had grown deep and soft. He pushed the footstool away and knelt before Caressa. His lips rested against her temple and he continued, "The moon prays that its light could be as fine as your skin. No beam could shine brighter, nor any silk prove softer than this shell."

His cheek nestled beside hers and his hands gently grazed her neck.

"Still there is more to you. Your soul swells with goodness and your mind is open and understanding. Yet I have guessed at dark secrets hidden somewhere inside of you." His breathing labored as he caressed her cheek.

"You mean about Erik?" She whispered. Her fingers were tangling themselves in his hair. He shook his head, leaned away and glanced down at her shoulder. The coat had sagged to one side and the lapel had folded down, exposing the flesh of her shoulder. A thick white scar stretched across the skin there. Two inches of its length were exposed, before Caressa snatched the lapels up again and hid it away.

"You must have had that scar since you were a child, for it to have grown so wide. And the one on your lower stomach, I imagine that happened around the same time," he asserted, hoping that because she had seen his scars, she would be willing to discuss her own.

She closed her eyes and pretended he hadn't seen it, and then wondered how he knew it was not just her shoulder. "Did you see me naked that day?" She asked.

"When you collapsed onstage, Antoinette had me pull you out of your costume, and I saw it then. Will you tell me what happened?"

"No, you would hate me, and that would murder every inch of me," she explained.

John embraced her. "I could never hate you. Haven't you listened to me, you beautiful, silly girl? Don't you see that our scars bind us together? Everyone has a past that they would wish away if it were possible, but those memories make us stronger once we've survived them. They have to."

"Your scars are so small," she told him. "Mine are grotesque."

"There are days when these scars find a way to cover me inside and out, Caressa," he confessed, and exposed them to her once more. "Do you despise me for my flaws, for my past and the sins I committed years ago in a different life? As another man?"

He had grown so passionate and Caressa found that her face had grown unbearably warm.

"No, I don't despise you. How could I? I want you every moment and when I am parted from you it feels as though my soul aches to be by your side. I love your scars as I—" She stopped dead. The room was heavy with the words she had nearly said.

Caressa moved forward, cradled his forearm in one hand and kissed his wrist softly.

"Is it impossible to believe that I share the same feelings about your scars?" He mused. Before she could react, he had pressed her back against the chair and pulled the coat down from her shoulder. John pressed a trail of kisses along her scar, and peeled the coat away as it dipped further down her chest. He had not anticipated the length of it, and noticed it made its way to the center of her chest where it forked up to her other shoulder, and down between her breasts. He pushed the coat from her other shoulder and examined the "V" shaped scar that draped across her chest.

Caressa was lost to the world. The instant his lips touched her shoulder she was drowned in perfect euphoria. Pleasure coursed through her and she pulled him toward her, no longer caring if she seemed like a wanton creature. She did want him, and that was all that mattered.

When John pulled away to take in the full extent of her scar, she was forced back to reality. He was kneeling above her, staring down as she panted against the seat of the chair. In his eyes there was nothing that betrayed horror or disgust. He seemed to understand, and maybe there was a little pity, but she could most clearly perceive his lust.

She pounced at him like a lioness, pinning him to the ground. As she nuzzled her cheek against his neck, she felt the vibrations of his deep-throated chuckles. No matter how close she pressed herself against him, she felt somehow separated from him. In her underclothes, it was easy to mount her legs on either side of his chest.

John was a well-built man, both tall and broad-shouldered, and it excited Caressa to feel him lie beneath her so helplessly. She chose to forget that he could overpower her at any moment. "I hate feeling powerless. No one should tell me what to do, and every thought in my head should be my own," she growled at him and nuzzled against his chest. "I could do whatever I like with you. I could even kiss you," she mocked, and placed her lips above his.

He rose up to meet them, but she pulled away playfully.

"You tease," he laughed. Caressa suddenly felt his fingers against the bare skin of her back. His fingers and the lining of the coat brushed her skin, and she arched her back in pleasure.

As she continued to writhe above him, she heard him singing to her in what must have been English:

_Carolina, dear  
__We will fold and freeze together  
__Far away from Hell  
__There is sun and spring and green forever  
__And now we move to feel  
__For ourselves inside some strange new haven  
__Lay your body out  
__Let your skin begin to blend itself with mine_

One of his hands ventured to stroke the scar on her stomach that was covered by the coat and her pantalettes. Caressa had not understood the song, but it had taken her back to the blissful plain where she had allowed herself to drown in pleasure. She had drifted down from his stomach and was abruptly made aware of his arousal.

This jolted Caressa from her reverie. She rolled off and away from him clumsily.

"I can't," she whispered.

John had not moved. "You can't what?" He asked her.

"Give myself to you," she answered as if it were the clearest answer possible.

He turned his head toward her. "I wouldn't have allowed this to go that far. I know much of regret, and would not put any more on you."

Her eyes grew wide and childlike, "But you—" She gestured to his groin.

John covered his face with his hands and let off a short chuckle. "I can't help that, it's your doing."

"Liar! I didn't do anything," she defended herself.

He continued to hide his face and replied, "You don't have to do anything, that's why it's so frustrating."

"I promise that I am not wicked. I was carried away, and the fire and your hands—" She sputtered.

John sat up and turned to her. "You're obviously a good girl, Caressa. I don't doubt that. This is not what I had intended to happen." He groaned and pushed his palms against his prominent cheekbones, the resulting pain subtly assisted in the dissipation of his arousal. "You're a fresh young girl and I'm a would-be scoundrel," Caressa thought she heard him whisper.

Caressa was not upset that the events had transpired, but she did not wish them to continue. It was a great relief that he did not attempt to seduce her further, because she doubted her ability to stop him. Though, when he said, _This is not what I had intended to happen,_ she was hurt.

"I shall retire to the second bedroom. This bed is yours if it suits you." John got to his feet and headed for the other bedroom. He paused at the doorway. "If you require anything, feel free to call for me."

After he had closed the door, Caressa allowed herself to breath. She imagined their continued interactions before the fire and felt slight regret that she had not remained on top of him. The news of Erik's deeds had not appeared to deter John, and for that she was both grateful and apprehensive.

The fire was almost dead, and Caressa was alone. She crawled onto the bed and beneath the bedclothes. The sheets were made of an extremely fine linen and the pillows were plush under her head.

She suddenly thought of Christophe, and hoped that he had arrived at the Chateau de Chagny safely. Would he be gracious to Christine and her husband? Would he understand her reasons and accept his new lot in life?

Her eyes closed and she couldn't help but imagine John kissing her shoulder once more. She recalled his fingers on her stomach, and traced the area with her own. The tremble of excitement caused her to arch her back against the bed. Though she was near, it was not on this night that she discovered her ability to bring herself to ecstasy.

Eventually, she fell asleep into a world of nightmares. When she awoke, she could not recall the terrors themselves, but knew that Heinrich had played an important part. There was sweat on her brow and in the darkened room, she felt that someone was lurking in the shadows.

"Erik..." She breathed, hardly more than a whisper.

The response was silence.

Caressa threw back the bedclothes and placed her hand on the knob to John's door. After a moment of disquiet, she opened the door. He stirred and sat up in the bed. The blankets fell away and his naked chest was made somewhat visible to her.

"Caressa?" He managed in his tired state.

"I had nightmares," she told him, and felt very much like a child.

"Shall I chase them away?" John rolled off the bed and strode toward her in almost perfect darkness. She had never seen a man's bare chest before, so even in the dark she attempted to look up at his face. When he was close enough that she felt the heat from his body, she reached out to him. A moment later he swept his arm behind her knees and carried her to the bed. She pressed her hand to his chest and felt the hair that grew there.

As she was lowered onto the bed, she curled her hand around his bicep.

"I won't drop you," he told her. When she was securely deposited, he climbed in beside her. John was surprised when she promptly placed her head on his chest and nestled to him.

"I'm old enough to be your father," he announced, and Caressa heard the doubt and discomfort within him.

John felt an aching, apprehensive pain straining at the tendons in his throat. Caressa may have been young, but she was also coveted by the most famous ghost in Paris. The Phantom was a spectre who apparently took to torturing those who found themselves too near to his pupil.

He peered down at her and could only discern the softest sheen of her hair. When she turned her eyes up toward him, they reflected what little light that had found its way into the room.

"I am young enough to make foolish choices, yet old enough to make those decisions for myself," Caressa eventually replied. "If I don't start doing so soon I shall transform into the homunculus my stepmother always envisioned. There will be nothing left inside of me but the thoughts and wishes of others.."

A heavy silence grew as Caressa contemplated all that she had revealed. Was she strong enough to stand up to Erik despite his power over her? Could she ever persuade him to refrain from harming John if he found out about this night?

The image of Erik driving a blade into John's eye flashed in her mind and she desperately clutched at the man beside her.

"I can't let him hurt you!" She cried. "I would never go near you again if it would keep you safe."

Her wet cheek slid across his chest and he realized how upset she had become.

John laughed breathily. "I am a grown man of seven and thirty—if I can't properly safeguard my lover from a murderous ghost who lives in the cellar, I've truly learned nothing in the course of my life."

Caressa began to laugh in spite of her tears. "Your lover?" She wondered aloud, and then she grew strangely excited by the words. His arm curled beneath her and came to rest at the small of her back.

He gathered her closer and thought for a moment. "Would you prefer my darling? My sweetheart? My sovereign? I did not intend any slight—"

"Your sovereign?" She repeated, cutting him off.

A devious look entered her eyes—a look that John could clearly see, even in the dim light.

"You like that, do you?" He asked with a chuckle. Caressa's slim and graceful fingers twirled confidently through the hair on his chest.

Her head tilted to one side as she released a "hem-ing and haw-ing" sound. "Perhaps not all the time; only when we are alone."

"Am I to be your captive then, Her Majesty Carolina of the Opera Populaire?" His chest shook with a deep vibrato each time he spoke or laughed, and it calmed what worries Caressa carried. His humor and light heart uplifted her from a place of shadows.

"I've never kissed anyone," Caressa revealed sheepishly. She went on when he did not reply, "I have never done anything with a man—or a woman—obviously," she began to stammer and regretted starting this conversation. In a moment of comfort it had seemed as good a time as any to explain the extent of her innocence. "The most I have ever touched a man is this moment."

Caressa felt his lips press into her hair, he was quiet.

"I don't mean to say I fear you, but a man wants . . . " She could not continue.

"I haven't had a woman in seven years, not because I'm a priest, but because I chose not to," he explained. "What I want and what I do are two different things."

"What do you want to do now?" She asked and closed her eyes, for even in the darkness, she was too nervous to look at him.

John heaved a few great breaths, first thinking of what he wanted. He tried to will himself to remain calm, but found it immeasurably more difficult with the being he desired most pressed firmly against him.

"I want to sleep, my sovereign. So that in the morning I can wake up to see your face by the sunlight," was John's eventual answer. It was not what he _wanted_, but it was what he would do.

Caressa relaxed against him. "This won't happen again when we go back to the opera house, will it?"

She felt his embrace tighten softly. "No. It would incite endless hurtful rumors and I fear that your Phantom would find it displeasing. Madame Giry does not appear to approve. I'm not a coward, and I don't intend to creep through our courtship, but it seems we require a chaperone. When left to our own devices, we make rather wicked decisions, don't we?" He felt Caressa laugh. "Though we are not wicked people."

"No," she whispered, "And it would be rather easy to lose our footing if we continue on like this." Her unharmed palm grazed over his chest, committing to memory the feeling of his body. "Sing to me, before we rest, the song from the fire place. It will be my lullaby."

"If it pleases you," he answered, and sang it once more in his native tongue:

_Carolina, dear  
__We will fold and freeze together  
__Far away from Hell  
__There is sun and spring and green forever  
__And now we move to feel  
__For ourselves inside some strange new haven  
__Lay your body out  
__Let your skin begin to blend itself with mine_

As soon as he began, a bolt of something like electricity ignited within her. A dull throb moved down across her stomach, and then she felt it—her pulse beating steadily between her legs. A sensation of emptiness crept through her and she realized how it could be filled. His voice was deep and rich, and she felt it all the more for pressing her ear gently against his throat. During the song, she impulsively trembled against him in pleasure.

When John finished he translated the words to her in French, and knew without seeing that his seraphic Caressa had blushed a fierce red. The grinding she had been doing a moment before stopped.

"Kiss me, John," she murmured suddenly, and propped herself up beside him.

"No, not tonight. My passions are strained as it is, _Carolina_. Nor shall I steal a kiss from you that was meant for another man earlier today."

"I'm sorry, John. I didn't think." A mortified Caressa settled back down, and did her best not to touch him. He stroked the wrist of her injured hand. "I will kiss you on the night of the Masquerade."

_That's almost a fortnight away!_ she thought to herself.

"If you can wait twelve days to be kissed, I'll know that your affections outweigh your momentary desires." When John explained this, he realized that this edict would test his true intentions as well.

_Are you more than a sweet face and youthful body to me?_ he asked her silently. _Do I want your goodness as much as I want to bury myself inside of you? What is it that sets you apart from the women I've turned away? It must be your innocence, I found it so comforting, but now I see it slipping away from you. Have we been leeching it from you, your Phantom and I? _

"I can easily wait twelve days. You must think I'm like the hussies at the opera house, who preen over every rich man to cross the threshold." Though she joked, it was a great disappointment to her.

"I happen to be a wealthy musician—in most circles a creature of legend. Quite a prize for a hussy." He broke out laughing when she pinched his side.

"You're funny, that is what I admire most about you. Keep your money and your music, but make me smile. Sometimes I go so long without smiling," she revealed.

"I shall do my best. Now sleep, my sovereign hussy." He kissed the top of her head and fell asleep quickly to the peals of her quiet laughter.


	22. Only My Enemy

Reviews are most welcome. | _For P. BeLLe_

* * *

**Chapter 22: Only My Enemy**

When Caressa awoke the next morning, the place beside her in the bed was warm, but empty. She could smell John, yet he was nowhere in sight. A jolt of fright coursed through her at the thought of what his absence could mean.

_Did John leave me without a word? Had Erik been here?_

The door to the suite suddenly open and John entered the bedroom carrying a bright red gown over his arm.

"I trust that you slept well?" He asked as their eyes met.

"Much better than I have in quite some time, and yourself?"

"Very well. I made an inquiry downstairs about having your dress mended this morning. The attendant assured me that a maid would come up to have a look. She must have thought it was a lost cause. I've just gone down to ask after it, and the maid sent a note down explaining that she had to throw it out," John told her.

John rested the gown he carried at the foot of the bed. "I wondered if they had any gowns that had been left by previous guests, and the attendant remembered you from last night. He brought this out and assured me it would fit you."

"Oh, thank you, that was exceedingly thoughtful!" Caressa exclaimed, throwing back the blankets and crawling toward the foot of the bed.

As the sheets settled, John turned away. "I will leave you to dress. Please join me when you are finished." He entered the main room quickly and shut the door behind him.

Caressa felt her heart sink slightly in her chest. She had expected more playful words from him, or at least an entire conversation.

She gathered her slightly-used gown, and gasped when she felt the fabric. It was a smooth silk taffeta, which was quite a change from her usual threadbare cotton. She took up her discarded undergarments from the night before and commenced dressing. Her corset was very lightly laced, and she wondered if the gown would fit if she did not tie them slightly tighter.

After bracing herself against the bedpost, she tugged back on her laces. The bruised flesh on her ribs protested to this torture, and Caressa gasped.

"Are you all right?" She heard John ask immediately. He recognized the painful gasp from the morning Erik had broken her rib.

Her breaths fell heavily from her lips, but she managed to repeat, "Yes, yes. Of course, of course," a few times.

He was not convinced, and when Caressa straightened from the bed, John was staring at her.

The night before, his coat had covered much of what gave her a womanly shape, and in this moment of seeing her curves swell and contract, he found himself speechless.

"My corset. . . I can wear it. If it's not too tight." She held the laces awkwardly behind her. His silence made her wary. "I do a very poor job of my own laces, would you care to help me?"

He blinked a few times before answering, "Are you sure? You've barely had time to heal. Isn't it painful?"

"Madame Giry told me that if I'm to keep my figure, I can't be without at least light lacing for very long. My bruises grow more faint by the day, and the rib must be healed because it bothers me very little." Though Madame Giry had suggested light lacing, Caressa was not entirely truthful about the pain.

When he approached, she turned toward the bed post. She looked back at him and took his hand. "Here," she mouthed softly, and guided his index finger toward the center of the laces. "You must be very gentle, you can't begin to imagine how tender I am."

She could hear John's laboured breathing behind her, followed by a nearly imperceivable tug where she had place his finger.

"Is that too hard?" He asked, concerned.

"I barely felt it, go on," she instructed. She felt his other index finger slip under the laces. His second tug had more force, but luckily did not cause pain.

On the third pull, she winced.

"Shall I stop?" He whispered.

Caressa shook her head. "That's perfect, just that tight."

A pull, a gasp. A pull, a gasp.

As he reached the last of her laces, Caressa found herself panting against the bedpost. Not from the pain, but from a strange pleasure that she could not quite understand. The throbbing pain from John's lacing seemed to stimulate her. She reasoned that it was John's proximity alone, which excited her, not that he caused her pain.

Her face was flushed, and she felt the same heat from the night before between her thighs.

John tied off her laces and his hands trembled after losing their occupation. He was eager to touch her, but not without her consent.

Caressa could feel the heated electricity crackling in the space between them. A moment of uncertainty passed, before Caressa bent forward to reach for the gown.

Without registering what he was doing, John had grasped her hips firmly in his hands. He felt Caressa's body stiffen.

She could feel her stomach tighten more every moment. The tips of his shoes settled against the outside of her stocking-clad heels. He only needed to move forward a fraction to brush against her. Her only intention was to let him.

And then he was gone. The sound of the door slamming reached her ears before she could turn to look at him. She haphazardly stepped into the gown and closed every other button up the back in order to hurry out to him.

"Forgive me," she begged when she found him out on the small balcony. He was looking out at the city. "I should not have invited such a scenario, even if it was not what I had intended."

"You should not apologize for my indiscretion. I reached for you without an invitation. It was a disgusting act," John countered. "You should return—" He stopped short when he saw the gown on her body. "I had very little chance against you."

Caressa glanced downward, and her eye was immediately drawn to the abundance of cleavage caused by the decolletage of the gown. The scars she had tried so desperately to hide under high necklines and ruffled lace collars were slightly exposed. Her damaged hand flew to the center of her breast in a show of modesty and fright.

"You should go before I can make myself anymore ridiculous," John instructed. He turned his face away from her in great embarrassment.

"Might I have your handkerchief before I return to the opera house? This gown reveals more than I care to share with anyone save for you."

"Of course, Caressa." He removed the kerchief from his jacket pocket and placed it in her hand.

Caressa grasped his outstretched hand and embraced him. "I know that I won't be able to touch you when we've gone back. This can be the moment I hold onto when I find myself in darkness."

John rested his cheek atop her head and held her protectively to him.

She melted against him, and began to wonder why they couldn't stay in the hotel forever. Something Erik had said to her stuck in her mind, and she could suddenly comprehend the meaning of his words.

"I want every fibre of you," she whispered.

John's hold on her loosened, "What did you say?" His limbs suddenly stiffened as he held her at arms length.

"I don't remember," she lied. "Something trivial, I'm sure." Caressa pulled away and stuffed his kerchief under her neckline.

"No matter, I will return to the opera house later in the day. There is something I must attend to, and if we were to arrive back together, suspicions would be aroused." While explaining this, he ushered Caressa to the door.

"Later then, John," she bid him good-bye.

"Farewell, my sovereign." He placed a soft kiss against her left temple, and closed the door behind her.

* * *

In a state of happiness that she could not recall having experienced before, Caressa skipped down the hotel stairs and strode smoothly out the fronts doors without a care in the world. She even found herself whistling Habanera as she entered the Opera Populaire.

The men guarding John and Henri's suite asked her several questions pertaining to her safety the previous night and she assured them that all was well, and that they were very kind for inquiring. She mentioned that Monsieur Khan had escorted her, and they were satisfied.

When she entered the suite, she heard a whistle sound from across the room. Her eyes darted around the room in terror, fearing an encounter with Erik, but luckily they landed on Henri.

"I had hoped you wouldn't take my drunken advice seriously, but look at you!" Henri exclaimed. "I'm hoping you weren't forced to unveil all of your talents."

Caressa thought she saw him wink. She had forgotten entirely about the opera the previous night. "I didn't reveal any _talents_, but I do believe I'm very near reaching an agreement about the matter of your libretto."

Henri's eyebrows flicked upward. "So you were away with my brother last night. Madame Giry was extremely concerned after you did not return. I am uncertain whether she will be pleased or troubled to know that John stole you away."

"Oh, Henri! You mustn't tell her or anyone else. I fear she will suspect it anyhow, but you must be silent. Please?" She implored him.

"You should never have any fear of me revealing your secrets. They are safe with me," he told her sincerely, and gave her a fatherly smile.

"Thank you," she replied before she continued on toward her bedroom.

"Although—" At this sudden word from Henri she paused, "—I may have been heavily inebriated, but I do recall a rather strange event that occurred yesterday. I heard someone who sounded like you having an argument with a man who was not my brother in your bedroom."

Caressa remained silent.

"Any thoughts on the matter—"

One of the policemen opened the door and Henri stopped.

"A page is at the door, requesting you, Mademoiselle Bucher," he announced.

Matteo was waiting in the hall. Caressa witnessed a smile that was not at all fatherly appear on Henri's face when he saw the stagehand. She glanced back at her door and groaned, she had been hoping for a moment of solitude.

She bid farewell to Henri and joined Matteo in the hall. "Yes, Matteo?" She asked.

"One of the managers needs to speak with you in his office. He told me to tell you that it pertains to your contract. He requested that you join him when you are available," Matteo informed her quickly. Caressa noticed that his face was very red.

"Matteo, are you well? You're blushing all over," she said with concern.

Matteo took her elbow and began to walk her away from the policemen. When he believed they were out of earshot, he began awkwardly, "You didn't tell anyone what you saw last night, did you?"

"_What I saw?_ What do you mean?" Caressa wondered, appearing bewildered.

"I mean Henri and I alone in his bedroom. You didn't tell anyone, did you?" He asked nervously.

"No, why would I tell anyone? If he needed help, it was kind of you to offer assistance. Even if it took you away from your usual duties." It seemed to Matteo that Caressa did not understand what had transpired between Henri Jekllyne and himself.

"Yes, I'm glad that you understand," he said with a renewed confidence as they made their way toward the offices.

"Of course, and I also know that if Henri keeps staring at you the way that he does, everyone else will understand."

Matteo's jaw dropped.

"Your secret is safe," she whispered in his ear as they arrived at the office.

"Thank you. I know that we work in an opera house, where scandal is abound, but I wouldn't want people spreading rumors about him. Especially something of this nature," he confided in her because she was the only soul who knew his secret. "I'll be off then. Have a fine day, Caressa."

"And you as well." It was not remotely difficult for Caressa to suss out the relationship between Henri and Matteo, and she did not wish for them to worry about her gossiping. However, she felt that feigning naivete made her appear quite simple, which she was not. In the end, she felt that her honesty at having discovered them gave Matteo a person to confide in.

Caressa rapped at the office door with her good hand, and placed the other behind her back. A moment later the manager called to beckon her inside. When she entered, the curtains were shut and the lamps were barely glowing. A man was rummaging through a cabinet to the right of a large wooden desk. When she saw him, she realized she had expected Monsieur Maugnaut, who this man was clearly not.

"Sit," he commanded curtly, with a lisp clearly audible in the 'S'.

She scrambled into the seat in front of his desk.

"Would you care for a libation, ma chérie? Wine, whiskey, or perhaps a glass of absinthe?" Caressa realized that the second manager, whose name she could not recall, sounded like a snake when he spoke. His voice was higher than most men of his tall stature, and the airy and calculated quality of his speech gave her an unpleasant chill.

"A small glass of wine, please, monsieur," she responded sheepishly. Glasses clinked together as he prepared their drinks. Her eyes had somewhat adjusted to the low lighting, but the darkness did not help settle her nerves.

After a few moments, the manager placed a reservoir glass filled with absinthe and covered with a spoon before her. He poured water over the sugar cube on top of the spoon and waited a few moments before stirring it in. Caressa said nothing as he finished, and took his seat. She could see light glinting off of his circular spectacles. Tiny pinpoints of reflected light revealed where his eyes were roaming beneath the glasses.

"I have exceedingly terrible vision, Mademoiselle Bucher. My only chance to preserve the sight I have is to avoid bright light at all costs. This is why I am rarely found in my office," he revealed. "I wanted to save you the embarrassment of asking."

Caressa stared at him, but she did not know if she should speak. The man before her was incredibly rude, and she felt he acted in such a way very deliberately.

He lifted a tumbler and gestured to the absinthe. Caressa took a sip, it was unpleasant, liken to licorice whips, but not as horrible as the whiskey she had once had. She took another taste and found that it suited her better than the first.

"What—" Caressa began, with the intention to discover _what_ she was doing in his office.

"You're going to ask what you are doing here, Carolina—Might I call you, Carolina? It has come to my attention that Monsieur Maugnaut has failed to properly market you as our company's star. I read the interviews you gave, and they are quite dull. You appear very plain to the public. La Carlotta was a nightmarish diva, but the patrons adored the scandal—the theatre of it all, if you will. What we need to discover by the conclusion of this interview is what your public facing persona should be." As the man went on, Caressa became offended and confused.

"I'm not sure if I understand what you mean, Monsieur—" Her eyes darted to a small plaque on the desk bearing his name, "—Sabourin." She continued to sip her absinthe.

Monsieur Sabourin emitted a quiet scoff. "You're not a wit then."

Caressa looked at her lap, and tried not to say anything rash to the man who held her contract.

"Not easily offended either. If I had said that to Carlotta, she would have bashed my head in. No . . ." He drew this word out as he thought, "You are a rather agreeable creature, Carolina. The only requests you have made were well within your rights. Maugnaut tried to cheat you to save the money we've been bleeding out. I must ask that you assist us in recouping said funds. When we lost you for a fortnight, it demolished the thin façade we had built up around our ingénue."

"I—" Caressa managed before Monsieur Sabourin began to over speak her.

"What I had gathered from talk of you was that you are a sweet, religious little creature, who minds her manners and says her prayers." Sabourin sunk back against his wingback chair and nearly disappeared into the dark. "You must fathom my surprise when you entered my office looking like you just skulked out of le Chabanais brothel."

Her face lit up in anger at the comparison, but she calmed herself before she spoke, "It's not my dress, monsieur."

"A gift from an admirer, I assume?" Sabourin asked in a suggestive tone.

"No, monsieur. I borrowed it. Many of—well, all of my clothes have been ruined, and this gown was lent by a friend," Caressa explained what was reminiscent of the truth.

Monsieur Sabourin stood to refill his tumblr, and asked if she would care for more absinthe. It was only then that she noticed her glass was empty.

"No, thank you," she replied.

When he resumed his seat, he pushed a glass of red wine toward her. "A cabernet for you then. I distaste drinking alone." Caressa ignored the glass. "I was most sorry to discover that your possessions were destroyed within the opera house. I would have hoped your Phantom would find better ways to occupy his time."

"He is not my Phantom. He is nothing to me," she spat at her manager.

"I am sure it would displease him to hear you say that. It seems you have already given him cause for destruction. Examine the instance of your brother; why provide him with more encouragement?" Light danced across his spectacles as he spoke.

And Caressa wanted to smash them.

"If you mean to imply that any of the blame for his malice lies upon me, you are gravely mistaken! No one controls him, he's like a force of nature. He is the black magic that settles in shadows and waits for you to feel safe. He waits until you're sure he couldn't be watching, and then he strikes to wound. Again and again." She took a few deep breaths to quell her anger. It became increasingly difficult due to the freeing effect of the alcohol. "Do not put that on me. I _am_ the girl who minds her manners and says her prayers at night."

She saw him nod. "Then that is our angle, ma chérie. Tell me, are you Catholic, Carolina?"

"My mother and father were, but when my father married his second wife, we converted," Caressa answered. "In truth, I'm not entirely fond of their severity." She had not intended to say that aloud, and slowly brought her hand over her mouth.

"Starting tomorrow, you will be seen going to confession at Notre-Dame. Every Wednesday, Saturday and Sunday you will confess your sins to a priest, and the patrons will be fascinated by the pious actress." Sabourin opened a drawer at his desk and produced a rosary. "Take this, consider it part of your character. I want people to see you worrying over it when you're not on stage."

The girl before him could not believe what he was asking her to do. "That's blasphemy!"

"Only if you believed in Catholicism, which you don't. I am only asking you to do this very simple thing to offset the revenue and publicity we've lost. Monsieur Maugnaut and I would hate to have to shut the opera house's doors. Think of how many employees would find themselves in the gutters or whorehouses. Can you think of Reinette Martin wandering the streets of Paris, penniless and alone?" Sabourin steepled his fingers and leaned forward across the desk. "Don't ruin their lives over having to perform a little act, Caressa. Put on a righteous mask for a few months, and that's all. You could just pray at Notre-Dame, there is no harm in that."

Caressa wasn't sure if it was the alcohol, his persuasion, or the truth, but she began to nod in acceptance. "I'll do it for the opera house, it's my home."

"That is grand," he hissed. "I insist that you take the rosary."

She held out her hand begrudgingly. Sabourin slowly placed it in her palm, and closed her fingers around it as he took her hand gently in both of his.

"Thank you, monsieur . . ." She murmured and attempted to nimbly pull her hand away as she became a little panicked.

He held it there firmly. "That is nothing, ma chérie. A meaningless prop. However, I have brought a gift for you. Something to show appreciation for your talents, and your discretion."

She saw a flash of light reflecting off of the snake-like man's tongue when it darted out to wet his lips. Her stomach churned at the thought of what his "gift" might be.

"You shouldn't have," she barely whispered.

Sabourin released her hands. "It's there in the armoire," he told her in a bored voice. He gestured toward it with a nod of his head. The fear she had felt moments before dissipated. "Monsieur Maugnaut insisted upon it after your recent hardships, something to show our support."

"May I?" Caressa wondered, suddenly excited. Her cheeks were hot, her arms felt light enough to float, and she abruptly agreed that she deserved a present.

Her manager waved his hand to give her permission. She stood up shakily, and steadied her drunken tremors. _Has walking always been this difficult? _She thought to herself. The tight dress did her no favors.

"Wait!" Monsieur Sabourin called just as she reached the armoire. He quietly slithered to her, and handed her one of the oil lamps. "You'll see better with this. I shall cover my eyes so that you might turn it up. I do apologize for the darkness." These may have been the only kind words he had spoken during their meeting.

He stepped away and gestured at the armoire once more, "Go on."

Caressa produced a childish grin, and opened the doors. She glanced back to make sure that Monsieur Sabourin was covering his eyes before she slowly allowed the lamp to illuminate the contents of the armoire.

At first all she could see were shadows on cloth. With more light, she began to register a blue hue to the fabric, like forget-me-nots. Then she saw a dark, reddish orange streak of color on the right front skirt panel of a gown.

A streak of blood. It was the same gown she had ruined the night before!

She flung herself away in terror. Her entire body suffered an agonizing tensity. It seemed to realize she had tripped over the train of her gown before her mind did. As she plummeted backward, she was able to turn and brace her left elbow and forearm for the brunt of the fall.

While gasping into the carpet at the pain in her ribs, her lips pressing painfully into the fibres, Caressa tried to quickly make sense of her situation. It did not come to her as easily as it perhaps should have, but it was clear the absinthe was at fault. When she was finally able to focus her vision, she saw that the oil lamp had fallen a few feet from her head. It had spilled onto the carpet and lit a tiny patch aflame.

As she tried to escape her disoriented state, Caressa watched a fine, black leather shoe come down and crush the glass of the lamp beneath it. The small fire was extinguished. A pair of circular spectacles dropped to the floor beside the broken lamp and were also crushed.

"Did I frighten you?" She heard Erik say. "A prop, Caressa? A character? An act? A mask? How many hints did I give you, and still you fell for my ruse?" The Phantom of the Opera cackled at her. "Silly girl."

Caressa cried out in pain. She peered up at him with sadness and fear in her eyes. Her bandaged hand cradled her side. He turned up a lamp on the desk and she could see that a shabby gray suit replaced his usually immaculate attire, and he wore a thin, flesh-colored mask that covered all but his mouth and jaw. From above her, he glared.

Another cry escaped her, filled with uncontrollable agony, and she attempted to shift herself away from him.

"Oh God!" She shrieked. "What's happened to me! I can't breath! Erik, I can't—"

The Phantom watched in disbelief as she began to cough and blood speckled her lips. She covered her mouth and continued to hack into her bandaged hand.

She pulled it away to examine the stains, and whispered, ". . . Merde," before she collapsed and laid still.

Erik knelt beside her in horror. Her eyes were open and a trickle of blood was escaping from the left side of her mouth. He imagined that her broken rib had punctured her lung.

"What have I done?" He moaned. "Dearest Caressa, forgive me." Very gently, he tilted her head from where it rested up toward the ceiling. More blood rushed down the left side of her face and covered his fingers. "Dear, sweet, Caressa. . ." His soul was broken as he stared into her sightless eyes. He closed them with his hand, and sobbed.

After a few moments of silence, Erik leaned toward her and placed a kiss on her forehead.

This was when Caressa chose to come at him like a wild banshee. She spat the blood that remained in her mouth at his face and shoved him backwards onto the broken lamp. All of her weight came down hard upon his upper chest as she straddled him.

A searing pain erupted in Erik's neck, and then he noticed the rosary she brandished in her hand. He could feel the broken lamp beneath his back, but the many layers of fabric protected him. She struck at him ferociously with the rosary and her fists.

When he had regained his bearings, he grasped Caressa under the arms and slammed her against the desk with such force that it shuddered across the floor until it halted against the wall.

She gulped for the air that had been knocked out of her. As it began to enter her lungs again, Erik lifted her and painfully bent her backward over the desk. He grasped her throat, and she tried to tear his arm away with both hands.

"I should break your neck for that, you little hellion!" He screamed into her face. When he was sure that she wouldn't tear from his hold, he wiped her blood away from his mouth. She scowled at him, and he found her wild eyes unsettling. The fact that the left half of her face was streaked with blood added to the effect. He seized her face and she howled in pain.

"You bit your tongue when you fell, didn't you?" She said nothing. "Didn't you!" He shouted and tightened his grip on her throat.

"My cheek," she rasped.

"Absinthe transforms you into a violent creature," Erik taunted her.

Caressa bared her teeth at him. "How dare you deceive me in such a way! Luring me here, pretending to be a manager! What was there to gain?" She cried.

"I discovered how very easy it is to fool you, Mademoiselle Bucher. And why do you assume I am pretending?" He inquired.

"What's that supposed to mean? You're not a manager, I know the managers, they've been here since the reopening. Messieurs Maugnaut and..." She trailed off, remembering that she had indeed forgotten the second manager only minutes before.

"Victoir Sabourin. We happen to be one in the same. Come now, Caressa. When the opera house was purchased, what did _everyone_ say?" He prodded her.

It suddenly made sense to her. "They said the buyers would have to be mad. They said the buyer would have to be insane to reopen the opera house under the same name, for its true purpose. They said there were too many ghosts. They were right, it was you." Every string that had been pulled was him, every time he mentioned a manager, he spoke of himself. "What of Monsieur Maugnaut? Does he know?"

"Indeed he does. He's merely a pawn, a name and a face to distract you. Do not forget, I am a magician." He sighed and tilted his head. "Now, I am appalled that you have not even mentioned how you liked your gift."

"You stalked me from the moment I left the opera house, didn't you?" Caressa was a flexible girl, but the angle of her spine was swiftly growing from irritating to excruciating.

"I wanted to see what you thought of my work," he growled. His empty hand took hold of her bandaged fist, and squeezed. "Perhaps the absinthe has nothing to do with your violence. Perhaps it is merely in your nature. You took quite a swing at that policeman."

"I imagined he was you," she muttered under her breath. Her eyes clenched shut at a white-hot ache piercing through her spine.

"It was strange to me that you would allow someone else to escort your brother away from Paris. When you began to wander away from the opera house, I knew I had been right to follow you. I had never thought you would do something so very foolish to disobey me," he admitted.

"You do not control me," Caressa told him in a steady voice. "And you never will."

He jerked her to the left and she slid sideways across the desk. "Your current circumstance appears to tell a different story. Now. . . where was I? The Hôtel de Crillon. I know you only have one friend who could afford to stay there, and Monsieur Matri had been missing from the Opera Populaire since the morning." Erik took a step closer and lowered his face to rest a few inches from Caressa's. As he bent at the waist, his body settled atop of hers.

"Do you know how it hurt me, Caressa? To know that you had run to him. To know that you were capable of such malice. In the dark and rain it was difficult to find your room as I leapt from balcony to balcony. I didn't have the gall to wander in as you had—drenched in blood and rain. I must admit I felt some relief when I found the room and saw you asleep in a bed of your own." A sad smile stretched across his face. "My relief was short lived."

"I could feel you in the room when I awoke," she realized.

"I am, afterall, _the black magic that settles in shadows._ It was from the shadows that I watched you rise from your slumber and go to him. Where he was waiting to sweep you off of your feet, to hold you in his arms. In his whispers did he tell you that he would protect you from the horrors of the world? Because he's doing a very poor job of it." A cackle escaped him, but it lacked the wickedness he had intended to portray.

Caressa attempted to remain quiet and still. Erik watched her pant and shake against the strain in her back.

"I only witnessed what you were kind enough to show me as I watched from the balcony outside. What went on beneath the sheets, Caressa? Did he—"

"If you say _'Sample yours charms'_ I will be sick," she choked out quickly.

A grave visage of seriousness settled upon Erik's face. "Do you mean to mock me?"

She grinned up at him. "Absolutely."

Erik pulled her up from the desk, and she moaned loudly at the relief in her back.

"Did he touch you?" He bellowed as he shook her wildly.

His countenance, which before had merely been meant to frighten her, had now turned truly dangerous.

Her hands grasped at his tweed lapels and she pulled herself up to whisper in his ear, "All of me."

Erik's body shuddered violently, and then all at once he was lifeless.

"And such knowledgeable hands they were, Erik. Gentle and kind... and curious to discover every inch of me. I know happiness now. True bliss," she had continued. If he could hate her, perhaps this would come to an end. One way or another.

"You lie," he said in a soft voice, quite unlike himself. It was sorrowful and small, somewhat like a child's voice. Caressa was reminded of her little brother and of a story she had heard many years before. She remained where she was, perched at his ear.

"Yes, I lied. Poor Erik, I lied. It was cruel, and wrong. Forgive me, I am not myself. I am never myself anymore. I'm too afraid to be myself, you see?" She asked and began to stroke his hair. The wig shifted under her hand, but he did not react. "When I was young, my stepmother was very unkind to me. When I was bad, which to her was nearly always, she would beat me and then leave me in our woodshed for as long as she liked. The woodshed was also where my father butchered the animals he hunted. There were always... remnants of them left inside. Heads and innards and blood soaking into the sawdust.

"My father was often away on business, and he was not aware of any of this. When I told him, he did not believe me. I loved my father as a daughter should, but I know that he was not the most attentive of fathers. My stepmother's madness culminated in the worst memories of my life, and it was only then that my father believed what she had done. He sent me away to the opera house at Heinrich's insistence.

"I was safe here. My life was full of friends and cheerfulness. Everyday I could dance upon the stage, and I was free. When I danced I could feel a perfection in my soul, a completion that told me I was destined for something.

"Then a man came along, and he stole me away from the life I had known. This man has trapped me in a cage. It is lonely and dark where I am. The only time it seems I please him is when I perform well before the people of Paris. I desperately feared his displeasure when he first came to me. He can be violent, you see? After a time, I discovered that I am not alone in this prison."

For the first time in her speech, she felt Erik take a deep breath and his chest pressed against hers.

"There is a boy with me here. He sings to me every so often, and his voice is wonderful and radiant. He is intelligent and so very clever. Though I have never seen him, I know in my heart that he is beautiful, Erik. And on occasion, the man who trapped me and the boy are one in the same, and I am blessed to be near him."

Erik's grip on her softened, and she could hear him sobbing.

"He is not an evil man, but he is like my father. He couldn't see that I was unhappy, and when I told him, he didn't believe me."

She leaned backward in his arms and looked into his eyes. There was no anger left, she had disarmed him.

"I can't take it anymore. I'm not strong, Erik. I will die in this prison, where I am abused, helpless and frightened. Did you leave your empathy and compassion behind in that cage? Would you not have preferred death over that pain? You're not an animal, and neither am I." When she had finished, she placed her hands against his chest and waited for him to speak. His eyes never wavered from hers and she thought she saw tears falling beneath the mask. Caressa could not have predicted what he said next.

"You could have chosen anyone," he murmured. "Though it had to be him, of course." His voice was rather calm.

Confusion spread over Caressa's face. "What do you mean, Erik?"

Erik released her and turned away. "He knows, he's known since your display this morning, at the very least."

"What are you talking about? John? What does he know?" Caressa wondered, she worried he was talking madness at her.

"Ask Monsieur Matri yourself when you see him this afternoon. He should be arriving shortly," he told her.

"Erik, please don't hurt him—"

"HAVE I EVER THREATENED YOUR PRECIOUS JOHN!" He roared at her.

She felt as if her heart would stop in fear as she witnessed his horrible rage. Then he was quiet.

"No, you haven't. You haven't threatened him once." This realization washed over her for a moment and she recalled Erik saying, _It had to be him_. "Why haven't you threatened him, Erik?"

He walked to the door and opened it for her. "Monsieur Matri has countless secrets, Caressa; as do I. It just so happens that some of our secrets coincide."

In a state of disbelief, she moved toward him. He took her arm when she meant to move passed. His hand moved toward her face and she flinched away. She had not seen the handkerchief he was holding. Erik dabbed at her bloodied face with the cloth. She stared into his eyes again, and was frustrated that he would not explain himself. He wet the kerchief with his tongue and brushed the last of the blood from her face.

"Rest easy tonight. There will be no ghosts to haunt you. I lose myself, Caressa. I become another man, in order to forget. In order to escape." He removed his hand from her arm. "Escape me for a little while now. I leave the door to your cage . . . open." He gestured to the foyer.

"Thank you," she managed to say, before exiting the room. Caressa walked slowly to the right staircase, and as she mounted the first step, she looked back to see Erik looking after her. From the distance, he appeared to be like any other man. To untrained eyes, he was Victoir Sabourin. She continued up the steps, and passed the guards into the John's suite.

The sitting room was empty, she glanced at John's door as she reached her room. She pulled her key from her boot, and as it slid into the lock she paused.

_Victoir Sabourin._ She recalled where she had seen the name before.

Caressa soundlessly let herself into John's room, and hastened to his writing desk. She snatched at the stacks of letters she had seen before. They were all addressed to John from Victoir Sabourin.

She removed the letter that was posted first from its envelope and was exasperated to find that it was written in English.

"Shall I tell you what it says?" John asked abruptly from behind her.

"Forgive me, I had to know what he had written to you. Why he's been writing to you," she attempted to explain herself.

John took the letter from her hands. "Last night, I had my suspicions about who your Phantom was, but this morning when you said that you wanted every fibre of me, I knew. It's in this very first letter.

"_The sense of loss, which is apparent at the core of Johannes' character, strikes a deep chord. It is a pitiless sort of despair, more acute than is often written for the stage. Yet what you have captured within your work is also a testament to the passion and strength of love. I assert that even in death, it is possible to desire every fibre of someone's being, and it is here that the composer's sorrow becomes clear. Such work as this should be admired by all who have the senses to experience it."_

"He—he praised you." Caressa could not believe what she was hearing. "What about the others?" She ran her hand over the now scattered pile of letters.

John returned the letter to its envelope. "I had finished my second opera, and he had his hands on it before it was ever performed. In the last section of this letter he gives his condolences, and he somehow knew without knowing exactly what had happened to my wife. Without ever having met me, he knew my thoughts. Even in my altered and absent state, I felt that I should begin a correspondence with Monsieur Sabourin. He has that effect, I understand, to engross those around him."

"You're his friend," Caressa muttered, still quite thrown by this turn of events. "That's why he said it, _It had to be him, of course_."

"After a few years of writing, he revealed that he was the manager of the Opera Populaire. It was just after he had lost the love of his life—Christine, I know now. He explained that when the renovation of the opera was ended, he would like for me to bring my masterpiece here as it neared completion. This was just before I met Henri. I promised Sabourin my masterpiece, though I imagined I would be long dead by the time he expected it." John released a long, miserable sigh. "He was a dear friend, Caressa. In my ignorance, I have truly fucked this up.

"He told me about you, but he never mentioned your name. His eyes must behold you so differently than I have come to see you, for I would not have guessed you were the woman he described." John sifted through the letters until he found what he was looking for. "_She is quiet and demure, this faerie of a girl. I look on, but dare not show her deeper affection than a kiss on the forehead or hand. She is fragile, and I do not wish to break her. Our courtship is slow, but I can bear it. My heart has been cold for so long, and I feel it warm to her by degrees—"_

"Stop!" Caressa implored him, and he lowered the letter. "I did not know. He never revealed any of this to me, he never displayed such affection. I thought he would kill me only a few minutes ago, his temper is so unbearably savage."

"Minutes ago?" John looked desperately around the room.

"He knows about last night, he played a dreadful trick to punish me for going to you. I appealed to him, and he has said that he will leave me alone for a little while. Who knows how long that could be?" Caressa tried to remember what Erik had said about her in the letter. _Quiet and demure. Was I that girl? Am I still?_

She could see that John was distressed. He ran his fingers through his hair a few times, and then rubbed his jaw as he thought. "I thought I was beyond all of this," he whispered in English. "Eschewing women solved this."

Caressa grew worried as he muttered to himself in English. He was looking at her with uncertain eyes, and she was sure he spoke of dismissing her.

Without a second thought, she took his face firmly between her hands and declared with finality, "From the moment I saw you, you were mine."

"What I have done is an inexcusable injury," John countered and placed his hands over hers. "It is also irreversible, I fear. _Carolina, dear_, I believe it was you who was mine that first day in the hall."

"Could we pretend it is the night of the Masquerade, John? Just one kiss and I would be satisfied," she proposed softly. Her right hand fell from his cheek, and gently enclosed his thigh.

John gave a groan that turned into a chuckle. "How could anyone say that a wicked thing like you is demure? I would not be satisfied with one kiss. Not from you, my sovereign. Put that pout of yours away, and if you're very good, I'll sit with you until your appointment." He removed himself from her attentions and occupied the settee at the foot of the bed.

"My appointment?" Caressa's brow rose, and she smoothed her skirt.

With a beckoning finger, John drew her to sit beside him. When she was settled, he gazed down at her. He leaned down, and spoke smoothly at her ear. "You must allow me to pay tribute to you, my sovereign." His index finger stroked from her wrist to the tip of her fingers. "I have arranged for a clothier from the House of Worth to meet with you."

"For what reason?" She regarded him carefully.

"A fitting. You shall have a new wardrobe, and you will need a gown for the Masquerade." John watched her hand fly to her bosom, resting upon his handkerchief. "You must not be nervous."

"They'll see me!" She exclaimed. "They'll tell everyone!"

John shook his head. "If a word is breathed about your body outside of that bedroom, I could have Charles Worth in ruin by supper. They are very discreet, it's part of the reason the House of Worth is the finest couturier in France. Please allow me to give you this, as a small token of my affections."

Caressa nodded. "I could do with a few new things."

"Only if it will please you." He grinned.

She struggled to sit on her knees, and captured John in her arms. "Yes, it pleases me." She pressed her lips to his cheek. "I'm so very—" She pecked the crown of his head. "—Very—" Another peck to his throat. "—Pleased!" A sly gleam entered her eyes and she began pecking at him in earnest, giggling all the while.

Her victim roared with laughter and attempted to lean away.

"You cannot escape me!" She proclaimed, and climbed onto him. "Tremble at how _pleased_ I am with you!" John chuckled and put up a small struggle. "Do not dare to fight me, mortal!"

He caught her hands, which had been tickling at him, and held her aloft as she fought to continue her attack. She made faces at him and his laughter renewed. With a sideways jerk, Caressa sent them tumbling to the floor.

Her head took a small knock as she landed, but a bear skin rug softened the fall.

"Are you all right?" John inquired from above her, trying to contain his mirth. She nodded and glanced down to see that his right knee was resting between her thighs, and he supported himself with an arm on either side of her shoulders. On an impulse, she lifted her body up to meet him, and she gasped in pleasure as she pressed against his thigh.

His eyelids fell shut, and he released a sharp rasping breath. Caressa slowly returned to rest on the ground. She perceived a small tremor that rolled along John's body. When a few moments had passed, Caressa rose up again, and tentatively arched into him.

"Control yourself, you flirt," he attempted to joke. "It's cruel to tease me in such a way, more than you know."

"Forgive me," she begged of him. "I only wonder what would have happened last night if I had not been so nervous?"

"It was for the best that nothing transpired." Though he spoke the words, Caressa doubted his sincerity when he had not removed himself from above her.

"Are you certain?" She thrust against him once more.

Before she could understand what had occurred, her skirt was gathered at her hips, her bottom was lifted off of the ground, and John was holding her right leg in the air. The weight of him forced her down as he stroked his body upon hers. Caressa surely felt the extent of his excitement when he pressed himself between her legs.

The look of surprise on her face was enough for John to retreat. He pushed himself to his feet and turned to the wall. "I am certain. It is best that nothing should transpire forthwith. I recognize your curiosity and hope that you will be contented now."

"Yes, of course. I will be on my best behaviour, I promise you." Caressa collected herself, and returned to the settee.

John stared back over his shoulder at her, his eyes were darkened by his longing.

Caressa knew that an equal desire stirred within her and she assured him with the same tone she had used to claim him as her own, "I will behave, though I shall never stop wanting you."


End file.
